


The Quality of Mercy

by msgenevieve



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-02-07
Updated: 1998-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:55:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msgenevieve/pseuds/msgenevieve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freedom, so like everything else within Section, is never truly what it appears to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Original notes from 1998: "The Quality of Mercy" is my interpretation and 'fleshing out' of the Season One episode "Mercy", and contains massive spoilers for that episode. The characters of LFN remain the property of WB, USA and Fireworks Entertainment. This story contains both dialogue written by (and belonging to) The Powers That Be and original dialogue written by myself, and at times contains adult situations and language. Many thanks to Asrai for the German translations, and more thanks than I can ever express to my long-suffering beta-reader (especially for the "flying elephants".)
> 
> ETA from 2012: The temptation to go through my older LFN stories and tweak them to within an inch of their life is strong, but I have decided to post them 'as is', no matter how much the run-on sentences and heavy handed symbolism might make me wince now.

_"The quality of mercy is not strained,  
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven  
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed;  
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes"_ ~ William Shakespeare  


I have _no_ idea who laid down the unspoken law that operatives don't bring coffee to early morning briefings, but it's enough to make me want to start a union movement. It's one thing to be dragged out of bed at four in the morning. It's another thing entirely to have to listen to tales of murder and mayhem without being able to clutch an emotional caffeine prop. I open my eyes wide to disguise the fact that I'm about to fall asleep on the spot and let Operations' deep monotone wash over me. 

"Gabriel Tyler is a former member of the IRA and, until he left Ireland five years ago, a driving force within Sinn Fein." Operations pauses and looks at me, as though considering whether or not he needs to explain further. I raise an eyebrow in his direction and look pointedly at the briefing screen, annoyed by his lack of faith in my knowledge of current affairs. 

Operations pushes another button on his remote and Tyler's face appears in profile. _Not bad. Pity about the terrorist part._ I rebuke myself silently for my wayward thoughts. I just _have_ to get out more. 

"Tyler has been discreet in his activities in Europe, and we were not able to prove a link with any known terrorist organisation...until four weeks ago." Operations pauses expectantly, but no one speaks. Sighing silently, I have to fight the urge to raise my hand before asking the obvious question. 

"Four weeks ago?" 

The screen changes again, and we are suddenly watching what is obviously surveillance footage of Tyler. Operations paces slowly up and down behind the screen, studying the flashing images carefully. 

"Four weeks ago..." He gives me a wry look of acknowledgment before continuing. "A member of an organization that we know now as the Freedom League was picked up by Section on a routine sweep of a disused Red Cell base." Operations slants an almost gleeful look at Michael. "He was most _co-operative._ He was able to provide us with information regarding Mr. Tyler. Two years ago, the Freedom League made recruitment overtures towards Tyler, apparently impressed by his terrorism pedigree." Operations stares at the image of Tyler on the holograph screen with unexpected venom. "They were _quite_ anxious to make use of his talents." 

He pauses for a moment and smiles ironically. "They were also eager to enjoy the benefits Tyler's financial backing could offer them. His considerable personal fortune would enable them to step up their campaign against what they see as the imbalance of wealth and power in Europe." 

"According to our guest, Tyler took them up on their offer and is now controlling the European operations." 

"Does the Freedom League have ties with Red Cell?" Michael calmly asks the same question that I was just about to blurt out and I glance at him gratefully. _At least when he asks the questions he gets a straight answer, rather than the weary rolling of eyes that I usually end up with._

Birkoff leans forward, looking around me to see Michael. "Not as far as we can tell. The Freedom League is a relatively young organization...its doctrine seems to be more idealistic than Red Cell's. As far as we can ascertain, they were simply planning to search the abandoned camp in order to learn more about Red Cell's method of operation." 

"In the last month, the Freedom League's activities in the Balkan region have been stepped up. They have also been concentrating on strengthening their toehold in Northern Europe but as yet, we have been unable to discover why." Birkoff avoids Operations' gaze as he admits this last fact. "Tyler has a meeting tonight with an as yet unknown contact in Prague. The meet is scheduled to take place in an up-market nightclub. Nikolai's...usually 'members only', with a clientele made up of the old money of Prague." 

The glowing screen flickers to life again, and an intricate floor plan of the building is now on display. Birkoff pushes his glasses back up his nose as he continues. "There is a new art gallery attached to the club, and tonight the club will be open to non-members for the opening night party." He looks at Operations and shrugs cynically. "Tyler seems to have developed a perverse habit of choosing locations that are the very antithesis of the Freedom League's ideals." 

Operations clears his throat and disconnects the holographic screen, his gaze sweeping over us dispassionately. "Mr Birkoff's research suggests that the club is quite... _exclusive._ " He turns and smirks at me pointedly. "Madeline is waiting for you in Wardrobe." 

I clamp down on my embarrassment as his insinuation hits home and toss him a careless grin. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Michael fighting back a smile and not quite succeeding. Feeling slightly persecuted, I stand up and push my chair back before clomping somewhat inelegantly away from the briefing room. _And just what is wrong with the clothes I normally wear?_ I glance down and study my Doc Martens boots for a few seconds before mentally cataloging the rest of my ensemble. I eye my black leggings ruefully before smoothing down the slightly creased front of the white hooded sweatshirt I grabbed from the clean laundry basket this morning. _Who has time to plan an outfit at 4:30am?_

  
~*~

I walk slowly towards Wardrobe, pride still smarting, not only from Operations subtle jibe at my dress sense but the memory of Michael actually having to bite back a smirk at my expense. _Fine._ I square my shoulders and walk faster towards my destination. _I'll give him something to wipe the smile off his face._

"Good morning." Madeline greets me warmly when I appear in the doorway. 

I toss her a wan smile as I breeze past and head straight for the long racks of evening clothes. "Hello Madeline." 

Wisely, she doesn't say anything else but seems content to study me as I stalk up and down the aisles. Exclusive? I can do _exclusive._ It's not my fault that most of these damn mission profiles call for someone to provide a distraction. Distracting clothes are not necessarily the most elegant on the rack. I snort to myself. _Elegant?_ Not quite the right word. _Trashy...there's a better word._

Lost in thought, I end up in front of a rack of long evening dresses. _Red or black? Short or long?_ I pull out a short, shimmery black number and study it. I'm not really a Little Black Dress kind of girl. I grimace and put it back on the rack. It looks far too much like the dress I wore to dinner with Michael. The dinner that turned out to be a mission. 

_Too many bad memories there._

I work my way along the racks, my mind wandering back to that awful night. _Shit, if I'd known I was going to be spending the better part of that evening crawling around a dirty kitchen floor, I would have picked a dress that didn't flash my knickers to the world every time I took a breath._

I still have that dress. It wasn't fit to return to Wardrobe in the state it was in, and for some bizarre reason, I just couldn't bring myself to throw it away 

Still, black is good. Black is tres chic. _Maybe long and black._ I keep flipping through the clothes until something leaps out at me. It's ankle length with a slip to mid-thigh up each side. Thin spaghetti straps and a low but still tasteful neckline. Sexy _and_ exclusive. _Perfect._

Madeline's voice behind me startles me slightly. "Good choice." 

I turn to smile at her and we exchange a look of pure feminine understanding. 

"I know." 

  
~*~

It's already been a long day, and my fatigued body and mind baulk at the thought that it will be another twenty-four hours before this particular sequence is over. _One day just runs into another,_ I think wearily. I've spent the last two hours prepping for this mission. Six operatives on site, another four as back-up...a lot of bodies to co-ordinate in such a small area and still successfully factor in Tyler's unpredictability. 

Nikita is late, and my irritation grows. We have a road journey and an hour's flight ahead of us, and time is slipping away. The rest of the team is already assembled and waiting in the transport vehicle. Apart from a few brief glimpses of her during the day, I haven't seen her since she stalked away from the briefing this morning. I know that she was offended when Operations implied that she needed 'wardrobe' help from Madeline, but at the time I found it very hard not to smile. The indignant look on her face was priceless, particularly given the street clothes she was wearing. I check my watch again, annoyance warring with the usual twinge of need that thoughts of Nikita bring. Operations underestimates her physical presence. She doesn't need artifice and designer clothing to appear exclusive...I've seen her charm diplomats and world leaders wearing leather and combat boots. 

She appears at last, strolling down the hallway towards me as though she hasn't a care in the world. I lean back against the van access door almost in shock, my heart leaping into my throat as I catch sight of her. 

_My god._

I can't look away from her, can't even bring myself to blink as she walks gracefully towards me. My rebuke for her tardiness dies on my lips as I let my eyes roam over her. She is wearing a black evening dress that is devastating in its simplicity, and her bright hair has been tamed for once, the soft waves framing her face, the discreet makeup only enhancing her already arresting features. She is heart-wrenchingly beautiful, and my breath catches in my throat as she smiles and meets my eyes. 

I have never seen her look so elegant, but it is more than that. She is literally glowing with self-confidence, a quiet assuredness that is suddenly far too attractive. My body clenches with longing as she comes closer, so close that I could easily reach out and touch her. Her perfume teases my senses as I stand and gaze at her somewhat foolishly, once again reluctantly fighting the almost magnetic pull. Her smile falters and she narrows her eyes, evidently misreading my stunned silence as disapproval. 

"Michael?" A slight frown creases her smooth forehead as she looks down at her dress, then back at me. "What's wrong?" 

I take a deep breath and meet her eyes calmly, forcing myself to ignore the dangerously compromising thoughts hurtling through my mind. 

"Nothing." _You're perfect. Too perfect._

Nikita pats her hair worriedly, suddenly unsure of herself. She looks up at me through darkened lashes. "Too much?" 

"No." I allow my gaze to sweep over her quickly, careful to keep a neutral expression on my face. It is far more difficult than I want it to be. "Just enough." 

She flashes me a pleased grin and fiddles almost nervously with her hair again, then adjusts the straps of her dress. Glancing down, she runs her hands over her hips, smoothing non-existent wrinkles out of the silky black fabric. Looking up, she catches me watching her, and I can only pray that my thoughts are not in my eyes. 

I meet her gaze coolly and pray for the self-control to withstand this visual onslaught. "Let's go." 

A coquettish smile curves her lips as she looks at me calmly, a mischievous glint at the back of her eyes that instantly warms my blood. _Merde._

This is definitely going to be a long day. 

  
~*~

Nikita sits next to Sherry, the other female operative, once we enter the transport, and the two of them are soon engaged in animated conversation. A conversation that I shamelessly eavesdrop on, but to no avail...Section life makes whisperers of even the chattiest operatives, and their voices are too low to carry. I content myself with surreptitiously studying Nikita while her attention is focused on Sherry. The oversized flak jacket she has slipped over her black evening dress that looks slightly incongruous with her sculpted hair and refined makeup. 

Slightly rattled by the fact that I can't seem to drag my eyes away from her, I force myself to turn my back on the two woman, ignoring the muffled burst of laughter that assaults my ears shortly after. _I don't want to know._

Nikita is still a mystery to me in so many ways, and I know that this is part of the infinite allure that she holds. No matter how deeply I delve into her psyche, so much of her soul remains hidden from me. She is an addictive challenge that I am incapable of giving up. Sometimes I wonder if it because Elena is so open and straightforward by comparison. The thought of Elena does nothing to sooth my unsettled train of thought, and I find myself replaying last night's strained conversation. 

_"But Michael..." Elena rebukes gently, a frown marring her smooth forehead. "I thought the conference in Munich wasn't for another week?" She turns her face away, unhappy with my announcement that I have to leave early the next morning and would be away for five days._

"It was." I smile at her in apology. "I'm afraid that the client is insistent. The board of directors has been disrupted by the forced resignation of the company chairman, and they need my input on the restructuring. They can't wait another week." I manage to bite back the words "accelerated clock" that are hovering on my lips and slide a hand around the back of her neck to pull her closer, hoping to distract her from the undeniable fact that I am leaving her and Adam alone again. 

It doesn't work as quickly as I would like. Elena pulls away and narrows her eyes at me. 

"What about your family?" I see the unshed tears glittering in her eyes and sigh inwardly. We've had this conversation too many times to count, and it never gets any easier for her. "What about Adam? Why do your clients always have to come first?" 

I take her face in my hands, watching her expression soften as our eyes meet. I pull her close and press a lingering kiss on the frown creasing her forehead, wishing once again that Section had never heard of Salla Vachek. 

Pulling back slightly, I meet her eyes, feeling the familiar guilt and resentment fluttering in my heart. 

"The client has to believe that they always come first. If they don't, then they wouldn't be our clients for very long." I stroke her face lightly, hating myself more with every word as Elena's eyes close in acceptance. "You and Adam will always come first with me. You know that." 

Elena moves closer to me and I take her in my arms, almost wishing that she would fight me, scream at me... anything but this almost blind acquiescence of every lie I tell. She raises her face to mine for a kiss and for a moment it's all I can do not to push her away. I berate myself for my thoughts and kiss her gently. This situation is not of her making...I cannot blame Elena for my unhappiness. 

"Michael." I blink at the sound of Nikita's voice in my ear. I turn and look at her, startled by her proximity. She slides into the empty seat next to me and leans back against the padded wall, crossing her long legs as she does so. I avert my eyes from the tantalizing glimpse of black stocking-clad thigh and gaze at her blandly. 

"Yes?" 

Nikita shifts restlessly in her seat and leans forward to rearrange her dress. I give up the struggle to tear my eyes away and watch as she tugs the long skirt back into place, ostensibly to cover her exposed legs. By some mysterious method, she manages to uncover more than she covers. She glances up at me with a falsely apologetic grin. "Sorry...I'm used to slipping into something more comfortable for these trips." Her playful mood doesn't seem to have dissipated in the slightest, which can only spell disaster for my state of mind. 

"You had a question?" 

"Hmmm." Much to my relief, she lets her unsettling air of flirtatiousness fall away and I feel the tension tightening my body ease. "The configuration inside the club...?" 

"You're working with me." 

She looks at me with impatient eyes. "I know that...but how are we working the surveillance?" 

"We dance." 

Nikita's eyes widen slightly, but she scrambles to cover her reaction, repeating my answer with a casual laugh that fails to hide a sudden wariness. "We dance?" 

"Yes." I watch her through narrowed eyes, mulishly pleased by her discomfort. _Two can play this game._

Nikita's mouth curves in a slowly luxuriant smile, as though considering each and every implication of our role within the mission profile, Section-sanctioned or otherwise. "Fine." 

Our eyes hold for a long moment and my heart starts to hammer in my chest as she studies my face with more than a little devilish intent in her eyes. She grins at me again before getting to her feet and sashaying back to her original seat next to Sherry. 

I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes in defeat. _Devil in a black dress._ And she's my point man. 

~*~*~*~ 

The band is playing a Duke Ellington number when we enter the club, and despite my earlier misgivings, my feet start to tap involuntarily to the compelling beat. I sniff the air, my nose twitching in protest at the exotic jumble of scents. Cigar smoke, perfume...and money. Definitely money. 

I take a deep breath and turn to Michael. "Shall we?" Michael quirks an eyebrow at my suggestion before holding out his hand. I resist the perverse urge to curtsy and slide my hand into his, letting him lead me onto the small dance floor. Once we are in the midst of the dancing couples, Michael turns and slides one arm around me, smoothly pulling me into a close embrace. 

The band slides smoothly into the next song, and I realize happily that I know this one too. _I mustn't be quite the philistine that I think I am_ I hum the words under my breath, although I don't know if that's a good thing to be doing while dancing with Michael. _Bit too much talk about romance and love in this song._ I stop humming and clamp my lips shut, concentrating on not stepping on Michael's feet. 

It's been quite a while since we danced together, and being in his arms is having a slowly devastating affect on my composure. This sort of dancing is so... _intimate. Especially with Michael._ I find it so much easier to slow dance with a guy who's a lot taller than me, although they're a little hard to come by. There's no pressure...you don't have to gaze into their eyes if you don't want to...you can just bury your face against their shoulder or their chest. Easy to hide your feelings...or the lack of them. 

With Michael, there's no place to hide. I sigh silently, cursing my decision to wear these damn heels. We're exactly the same height, eye to eye, hip to hip. Tearing my gaze away from his mouth, I try to think of anything but the fact that his lips are less than a whisper away from mine. _You're on a mission...just deal with it._ Praying that he can't hear the frantic thumping of my heart, I wrack my brain for something breezy to say. 

"Nice place." 

He's giving me that _look_ again, damn him. His gaze wanders over my face, lingering on my lips before traveling slowly up to my eyes. My stomach feels all knotted up, all my insides tangled together. 

Michael flashes me a chivalrous smile. "I'm glad you came." 

He just about kills me when he does this. There are people all around us...too easy to be overheard. So we're having one of our usual weird discussions, saying one thing, meaning another, and all the while I have the sneaking suspicion that he is quietly amused by my discomfort. 

I don't plan on letting Michael throw me off balance tonight. I saw the look in his eyes when I met him at van access. I _did_ wipe the smile off his face. I may have even knocked his socks off, as my nanna used to say. He is not going to get to me. Not tonight...tonight, I am going to be calm, cool and collected. _Well, that's the plan, anyway,_ I think as Michael's arm tightens across my back and draws me closer, the warmth of his body pressed against mine sending a hot shiver through me. 

I grin at him, for once enjoying our private role-playing. "How could I refuse your invitation?" Our eyes meet and I see the barely suppressed humour gleaming in his eyes. _How indeed?_ Good little operatives do not refuse to go on missions. We dance in silence for a few seconds before he catches my eye again. "You seem more at ease than I've ever seen you." 

_Well, if I can appear at ease while slow dancing with you, then those meditation routines must actually be working._ I toss my hair slightly and give him a flippant reply, desperately trying to remind myself that I need to concentrate on the sequence in play, rather than on how Michael's thighs are brushing against mine with every step we take. "Must be the full moon." 

He smiles at my response before easing back into profile effortlessly. "Perimeter teams, converge. Tyler's coming up the north stairwell now." Any new intel, Birkoff?" 

"None. We still don't know why he's here." Birkoff sounds very annoyed at being out of the loop for once. 

Michael spins me gently on the dance floor and I have my first good look at Tyler. "He's meeting someone at the bar." I look quickly at the man he's talking to, but he's a stranger to me. I tilt my head towards Michael. "Do you recognize him?" 

He flicks me a quick glance. "No." He lowers his voice softly as he questions Birkoff. "Can you identify him?" 

If I shut my eyes, I can see Birkoff at his workstation, fingers flying frantically over the keyboard as he delves into a hundred databases at the same time. "Let me see what I can do. Drayson, give me a view." 

Drayson is already perched on a bar stool a few feet away from Tyler and his contact. Michael and I keep dancing but discreetly watch as the Section op slides a small video camm unit onto the top of the bar. I can't see it properly from here, but it looks like one of Walter's new toys. He showed them off to me earlier this week ~ they look like silver lipstick cases. Very James Bond. Sometimes I get the feeling that Walter has a secret hankering to be called "Q". 

Michael gives Birkoff a scant few seconds before demanding an answer. "Who is he, Birkoff?" I watch Tyler talk to his companion at the bar, wishing not for the first time that I could lip-read. They are now deep in a very intense conversation, oblivious to everyone else. 

I also wish that the strap of this damn dress wouldn't keep slipping off my shoulder. I discreetly pulled it back up into place the first time it fell down, but all that did was draw Michael's attention to my state of disarray. When it slipped off again, I decided that discretion would be the better part of valour. I don't think my jangled nerves could stand another one of his knowing smiles. 

Birkoff reports in, irritation evident in his voice. "I'm not showing a match. He's not in any of our databases." 

There are too many people in my line of vision. It looks as though Tyler's companion passes something to him, but I can't be sure. A few seconds later, my theory is confirmed when Tyler stands quickly before casually leaving the bar area. He doesn't look back at his contact. 

Michael's back is to the bar, so he doesn't see Tyler starting for the exit. I keep my voice low so that the society starlets dancing with their sugar daddies on either side of us can't overhear me. "Michael, what do you want to do? They're moving." 

"Drayson, stay with Tyler." His softly spoken words send puffs of warm air over my bare shoulder, and my stomach tightens with sensation. I give myself a mental shake and drag my unwilling mind back to Tyson, watching him walk quickly through the crowd before disappearing from sight. Drayson allows the usual one minute's head start before sliding off the bar stool and following him, no doubt at the Section approved discreet distance of fifteen yards. Michael spins me around again so that he can survey the room. "Teams Two and Four, pick up our mystery man." He pauses, his tone strangely lighthearted. "Let's find out who he is." 

Birkoff sounds much happier. "What mode?" 

"Make it look like an arrest." I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling at Michael's casual directive. I have slowly gotten used to the all-encompassing power of Section One, but sometimes I still do a mental double take. 

"Got it. All teams, switch to "B" channel." With that, Birkoff signs off, and I am suddenly all too aware of the fact that Michael and I are now alone. 

I watch as the rest of our team fade inconspicuously into the crowd and make their way towards the exit. Expecting to follow, I pull away from Michael slightly. I'm more than a little confused when his hand tightens around mine, his other hand on my back subtly pressing me closer. 

Slightly baffled by the fact that we seem to be still dancing, I tilt my head back to look him in the eye. "Aren't we done?" 

Michael seems completely unruffled, but as he pulls me closer I feel his heart beating just a little too fast. "Not yet." 

His hand dips a little lower, coming to rest on the small of my back _Just what is going on here? Must be the dress...I gotta wear this thing more often._ I frown at him slightly, not wanting to appear a complete pushover. "Not yet...?" 

Michael's eyes meet mine in a heated stare that manages to dry my mouth and turn my knees to water at the same time. He raises one eyebrow and gives me a small smile as if daring me to disagree. 

"After this dance." 

A blush steals hotly across my face. I give him a cautious smile and look away, suddenly feeling ridiculously shy. Michael pulls me closer, and I'm embarrassed at how quickly my body seems to melt into his. Resisting the urge to lick suddenly dry lips, I sternly tell myself to get a grip. 

"Well, I suppose that can be arranged." I gather my tattered nerves and meet his eyes again, throwing him a playful smirk. "Seeing as you asked so nicely", I add with mock seriousness. 

Michael smiles at me, looking far too pleased with himself for my liking. I lean forward and put my lips to his ear, feeling his heart thud erratically against my own as my breasts push against his chest. "But just this once." 

He lets out a pent-up breath on a ragged sigh that lightly stirs the long strands of hair clinging to my neck. I glance down in amazement at the goosebumps skittering over my skin, and I pull back, more than a little overwhelmed by the intensity of my body's reaction. 

He studies me through slightly hooded eyes, and I have no idea what he's thinking. I have a pretty good idea what he's _feeling_ , I think dazedly as Michael snakes an arm around my hips and pulls me flush against him. My body clenches with erotic shock at the feel of his obvious arousal pressed hard against me. We're still dancing, every slow step and turn leaving me breathless, my fingers involuntarily digging into Michael's shoulder as an aching warmth sparks low in my belly and spreads through my entire body. I don't know why this is happening here between us, but it is making me lightheaded. _More than lightheaded._ I feel as though my blood has become carbonated, fizzing through my veins at a million miles an hour. 

Birkoff's voice is suddenly in my ear. "Uh, Michael?" 

  
~*~

Nikita flinches and pulls away, looking somewhat flustered. My body silently protests the loss of contact as I grit my teeth and jerk my thoughts back to reality. 

My whole body is vibrating with the sudden lust that overwhelmed me the moment I took Nikita in my arms. Cursing my foolish loss of control, I take a deep breath and try to reign in my rebellious emotions. "Yes?" 

"The transport's ready to leave." Nikita and I hold a long silent look. Birkoff's voice becomes almost concerned. "What's the delay?" 

Nikita's eyes widen slightly at the question and she raises her eyebrows at me. I ignore her unspoken challenge and answer Birkoff in a steady voice. 

"No delay. We'll be en route in two minutes." 

A second of static and my comm. unit is silent. Nikita eases her hand out of mine and takes a half step backwards. Her face is flushed, her breathing shallow. 

To say that I'm stunned by what's just happened is an understatement. I could argue that it would have looked too obvious if Nikita and I left the dance floor abruptly in the middle of a song, but it is a poor excuse. I couldn't bring myself to let her go so soon, couldn't deny myself the exquisite torture of holding her in my arms. _How did that scenario get so out of hand so quickly?_ I have danced with Nikita and felt the ache of desire many times, but never before have I let my control slip quite so badly. 

Still inwardly disconcerted, I offer Nikita my arm. "Shall we go?" She hesitates for a few seconds, her expression one of wariness. Our eyes meet and we share an oddly empathic look. 

"By all means." With that, she slips her hand lightly into the crook of my elbow and lets me guide her from the dance floor. 

As we stroll through the club towards the exit, I analyze my foolish actions. _This can't happen._ I keep telling myself this and yet my body and mind stubbornly refuse to comply. No argument that I present to myself has made the slightest bit of difference. I'm so weary of fighting my feelings towards this woman, finding that each new day only brings a new struggle to stay detached. 

Three years of my life have been invested in the bid to take down Salla Vachek, three years of pain and sacrifice. Despite this, there are days...and nights...when I would throw away every single day of those three years, moments of madness in which I would sacrifice everything that I have helped Section work towards. I glance surreptitiously at Nikita as we walk through the nightclub and realize with dismay that those moments are becoming more and more frequent. 

More disturbing is that I find myself seeking out these brief episodes of intense contact, relishing them...even profiling them, to my utter self-disgust. 

When we reach the narrow entrance hallway, I step back and let Nikita walk ahead, despising my actions even as I drink in the sight of her, my eyes caressing where my hands cannot. From the moment I laid eyes on her tonight, my thoughts have not been sensible. Perhaps I should follow Nikita's lead to excuse my behaviour. _It must be the full moon._

  
~*~

I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes, letting the drone of the van's engine lull me into a welcome state of drowsiness. Section is only forty minutes away. _Thank God._ The flight from Prague seemed to take several hours rather than just one. Sighing, I open my tired eyes to study the cause of this restlessness. Nikita seems to be sleeping, her jacket pulled up high around her neck in an attempt to block out the outside world. 

Angry with myself, yet unable to explain my tangled emotions, I became cold and abrupt towards her from the moment we rejoined our team in the transport. A pang of regret stabbed at my heart when I saw the flicker of hurt behind her eyes. 

Nikita kept her distance from me on the plane, preferring to sit with Sherry in seats as far away from mine as the size of the plane would allow. Miserably aware of her presence despite the distance between us, I watched her ignore me. And now that we are back on the ground and less than an hour from Section, I find myself watching her again, finally allowing my mind to replay the night's events in minute detail...again and again. 

How could I have been so reckless? 

The past few hours have only served to reinforce my instinctive belief that she and I are hurtling uncontrollably towards an inevitable showdown. I took Nikita in my arms tonight and within seconds I could barely focus on the mission profile. It took every ounce of control that I possessed to ignore the violent desire flooding my body, pull my scattered senses together and complete the sequence. 

There have been times when I have managed to disengage for a few weeks, perhaps a month. I force myself to stifle the sheer need for her that warms my blood, the need to possess her in both body and heart. Nikita pulls back, hurt by my coldness, gradually drifting away. I watch her lavish affection on those she cares about, while she treats me with a careful disregard. 

It infuriates me. I find myself resenting every single person she spends time with instead of being pleased that she is following my unspoken directive. Inevitably, there comes a point when I can no longer stomach her cool politeness. Despising my weakness and yet unable to stop myself, I will struggle to renew our connection any way I can, whether it's an invitation to have coffee or a conveniently profiled mission...like tonight. 

Against my wishes, I have been burdened and yet blessed with a wife and son who love me, two innocents who have no idea that I am not the man they believe me to be. A deeper connection with Nikita will not only compromise the deep-cover profile that I have so painstakingly created, it will endanger Adam and Elena. And yet I have to accept that I can no more put aside my feelings for Nikita than I can for my Section-selected family. 

I close my eyes, feeling as though I could sleep for twenty-four hours straight and still be weary. To constantly crave what you cannot have is an ache that wears down a man's soul. Tonight, I feel _very_ tired. 

  
~*~

I can't remember a time when I have been more relieved to return Section after a mission. I desperately need some time alone. More to the point, I need to get away from Nikita. I'm unable to stop myself dwelling on what happened between us tonight, and yet my mind stubbornly refuses to face the strength of my feelings for her. 

Spidel is still groggy from the injection that was administered when he was 'arrested', stumbling over his own feet as he is brought through van access. I would also have to assume that the dark hood over his head is not helping his sense of balance. I had a brief conversation with Madeline during our journey back to Section. Technically, Spidel is an innocent, and therefore we have taken precautions to ensure that he does not see anything that may cost him his life. 

I watch Jacobs and Fulton lead Spidel away towards his meeting with Madeline, trying to dredge up some sympathy for what this 'innocent' is about to face. I can't...anyone who is foolish enough to broker deals with known terrorists is not an innocent. 

A burst of laughter assails my ears and I turn to see Nikita and Sherry straggling behind the rest of the team. Sherry smiles at whatever Nikita is murmuring _sotto voce_ into her ear, her eyes widening as if in amazement. I stare at them pointedly as they come through the van access door, suddenly very tired of the games that I have let myself be drawn into tonight. 

Both women fall silent as they feel my eyes on them, and Nikita sends Sherry on her way with a breezy 'see you later'. The older woman flashes me a knowing smile that sends a dull prickle of heat tingling along my scalp. Nikita doesn't follow Sherry but remains standing beside me almost expectantly. Accepting the inevitable, I sigh inwardly and turn to look at her. 

I meet her eyes calmly, blanketing the more vivid of my thoughts, and nod my head towards the main corridor of Section. "Let's go." 

She stands with her hands on her hips, her generous mouth curling with a hint of a smile as she studies me, her head tilted to one side as though trying to dissect my mind. 

Goaded beyond the limits of my emotional endurance, I finally snap at her, biting the word out through gritted teeth. "Yes?" 

Nikita smirks at me, her eyes glittering with playful malice, her voice lowered to a throaty purr. "I had no idea that you liked dancing so much, Michael." 

An involuntary shudder travels down my spine at her insinuating words, and to my dismay my body tightens as remembered sensation comes flooding back in a heated rush. Holding her eyes with mine, I move closer, hearing her breath catch in her throat as the warmth of our bodies collides and mingles, seeming to charge the air with a sexual energy that threatens my already tenuous self-control. 

_This can't happen._

I let my eyes roam over her body for a few exquisite seconds before I raise them to hers again. With an ability borne out of long practice, I let all the heat and life drain from my face. 

"Get changed. We debrief in one hour." 

Nikita flinches at my words, colour flooding her face. I meet her suddenly infuriated stare calmly, hating myself for the weakness, resenting her for making me face it so damn often. 

She turns abruptly and stalks away, her stiletto heels clicking furiously on the hard floor. Letting out my breath in a relieved sigh, I lean against the wall of van access and check my watch wryly. 

I was right. It has been a _very_ long day. 

  
~*~

"Madeline has been able to extract quite a bit of information from our friend Mr Spidel. He has recently formed a partnership with a young chemist by the name of Stanley Shays. They apparently met on-line while discussing the properties of plastique and its uses in modern terrorism." 

_Shit...there's a chat room for everything, isn't there?_

Fighting back a smile at such thoughts, I dart a glance at Michael. He is watching the holographic screen intently, as though it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. It's hard to believe that he's the same man I was dancing with only a few hours ago. If I didn't know that iron-clad self control of his better, I'd say that our little dance has left him slightly off balance. 

But I do know him, and I doubt very much that he's even given it another thought. Whereas I have done nothing but replay every one of those ten minutes over and over in my mind for the last three hours. And every time I think about it, those damn butterflies in the pit of my stomach turn into flying elephants. I slouch down in my chair in irritation and stare at the briefing screen. 

Operations clears his throat almost apologetically, as though conscious of covering old ground. "As some of you are already aware, Gabriel Tyler is a high-ranking member of the Freedom League." 

"We've been watching him for over a month, hoping the picture would emerge. Thanks to Mr Spidel, we now have a clear idea of Tyler's intentions. Apparently he has expressed an interest in obtaining a new, untested weapon... a polymer that has none of the characteristics of existing plastiques...a polymer that Spidel claims to have been created by his business partner, Stanley Shays." 

Walter snorts softly at this, and Operations turns to him with a half-smile. "Walter?" 

"I talked with Spidel. I heard his story. Shays is just a kid." He smiles and shakes his head. "Don't believe it. This technology is ten years away, not something you cook up in a garage after school." He looks at Operations and grins. Unsmiling, Operations stares back at him. "I hope you're right. Birkoff?" Birkoff shifts in his chair and glances at Walter. "I agree with Walter. It's unlikely." He frowns and looks up at Operations. "But if Spidel is already peddling it to someone like Tyler...I'd check it out." 

Operations flicks off the glowing screen. "Alright, let's do it. If it's the real thing, we need to get the material, the formula and debrief Shays." 

The sound of Michael's voice almost makes me jump. He's hardly spoken two words since we returned from Prague. "Should we keep Drayson on Tyler?" 

Operations considers for a moment. "Yes, for the moment. There's no need to acquire Tyler just yet. It would be wiser to see where he leads us." He smiles at us with glee, and I almost expect him to start rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "In the meantime, let's go meet our young inventor." 

  
~*~

Michael holds the door of the van open for me in his usual gentlemanly fashion, but still won't look at me. _Well, that must make four hours of no eye contact now. That would have to be a new record, even for him._ It has taken us ninety minutes to reach this junkyard that Spidel calls home, a trip spent, for the most part, in silence. I definitely should have brought a book...I dozed off more than once. 

Spidel croons lovingly to the snarling dogs that are straining on their leashes. "Easy, boys...it's just me." I'm still eyeing the fangs on the biggest mutt and wondering how well those leashes are tied to that chain fence when Spidel turns to invite us inside. "Come on in." 

Dust swirling around our feet, we follow him across the barren grounds to a door at the side of the dilapidated warehouse. The dimly lit interior is a shock after the bright sunlight and my eyelids flutter in protest. I pull my sunglasses off and take a first look at the person who initiated this chain of events. 

Stanley Shays is about three inches shorter than Michael, and very slightly built. It's hard to tell how old he is, but my guess would be no more than twenty. Maybe nineteen. He is wearing a pair of industrial headphones and is so engrossed in his work that he hasn't noticed our arrival. He finally looks up when Spidel bellows out his name a second time. 

"Stanley!" 

Startled, he looks up at us through the thickest pair of glasses I've seen in a long time. The boy definitely needs to invest in a pair of contacts. 

"Hey, Richard. What's..." He trails off as it dawns on him that three strangers have now invaded his private sanctum. He turns to Spidel. "What's up with this?" 

Spidel's fidgets uneasily, before finally looking at his partner. "Something came up. We need to do a little demo." Finally picking up on the palpable tension that his partner is projecting, Shays looks doubtfully at Spidel before giving Michael a speculative glance. 

"You guys investors?" 

Walter ignores his hopeful question, his attention fully focused on the explosive we've come to test. "Is this the polymer?" He reaches out an exploratory hand towards an enticing pile of junk. 

"Hey! Keep your hands off my stuff!" 

Walter bestows a condescending smile on Shays. "It's not _your stuff_ any more." Walter's almost nasty tone of voice takes me by surprise, but I bite my tongue. _Must be a guy thing._

Confusion evident on his pale face, Shays turns to Spidel. "What's he talking about, Richard?" When the younger man's back is turned, Walter takes the opportunity to rummage through the jumble of bottles and vials on his workbench. Shays whirls around and reaches out to grab Walter's arms, his voice loud and indignant. 

"Hey! I said _keep your hands_..." 

From the look on Walter's face, I can see he's on the verge of grabbing this guy by the scruff of the neck and giving him a good going over, which isn't really a good idea. I reach out and put my hand on Shays' arm, pulling him firmly around to face me. He looks down at my hand then back up at my face. I'm taken aback again at how young he is, and my conscience twinges slightly when I recognize his naïve confusion. "Listen, Stanley...we're going to be spending a little time together." I can feel Michael's eyes on me as I speak and have to force my attention back to Shays. "So let's not make any sudden moves, hmmm?" 

He stares at me as though he's seeing me for the first time. "Who are you?" 

_Trust me...you do not want to know._ But something about this kid stirs up all my protective instincts. "We're here to make sure your partner doesn't get you into trouble. " It's almost the truth. 

Speidel finally joins in the conversation, his voice flat and unhappy. "We've been bought out." 

Stanley Shays' baby face lights up, not noticing the total lack of enthusiasm from his partner. "Really?" _Strike that....he's not that naïve._ I can almost see the dollars signs gleaming in his eyes. "How much?" 

Walter sighs heavily. He wants to blow something up and he's tired of waiting. "Where is it?" 

Shays' face drops slightly, but after a moment's hesitation he tells Walter what he wants to know. "Second drawer." 

  
~*~

"Where's the best place to test this stuff?" 

Shays looks at Walter with barely concealed resentment, but gestures towards a flat dusty patch about 200 yards from where we're standing. "Over there...the further away the better." 

Walter smirks, not bothering to hide his obvious skepticism. "Right kid...whatever you say." 

Stanley only smiles smugly back at him, and a flicker of dislike dances across Walter's face. He turns to me with a 'can you believe this kid?' look on his face, and I have to fight the urge to laugh at his almost comical expression. It's no mystery why Walter never wins at poker. 

Michael clears his throat lightly but pointedly somewhere behind us. Walter flashes me another long-suffering smile before he walks off to finish preparing Stanley's explosive for testing. Curiosity gets the better of me and I turn to watch him, studiously avoiding Michael's relentless scrutiny. He and Spidel are standing silently behind us, and I can feel Michael's gaze running over my skin like hot water. 

Walter's animated chattiness has only made me more aware of the fact that Michael hasn't spoken to me once since we left Section. He's talked to Walter and Spidel, but not to me. _So why is he staring at me the whole damn time?_ If he's pissed off and wants to ignore me...fine. But the fact that he keeps looking at me like one of Spidel's mutts eyeing off a new bone is starting to really get under my skin. 

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I turn my back on Michael and Spidel with great deliberation and focus on the confident young man next to me. 

"So what do you do with all this stuff?" 

Stanley doesn't look at me. "Blow it up." 

"Why?" 

"It's...it's what I do." We fall silent as we watch Walter wheel a trolley past us. He now has a sample of Stanley's new toy and is heading to the designated area, his almost boyish eagerness making me smile. Stanley turns and gives me a challenging stare. "What do _you_ do?" 

His rather rude question hits a nerve that seems to be growing sorer by the day and I feel my smile dissolve. _What do I do? I get shot at, kill people, lie and seduce._ Annoyed by the fact that I've let him get to me, I smile sweetly. 

"I was just trying to figure out why a bright guy like you would waste so much time." _Bullseye._ Stanley's face tightens with annoyance and he launches into a defensive lecture that sounds way too practiced. _I wonder how many times he's had to justify this passion of his?_

"Oppenheimer? Nobel? Ever heard of them?" He tosses me a disdainful look before continuing, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "Albert Einstein? They used to _waste time_ too." He takes a deep breath and looks at Walter with a smirk, satisfied that his point has been made. "I think I'm in pretty good company." 

Walter dusts off his hands on his trousers with satisfaction. "All set." We watch in silence as he casually sets the charge, standing a worryingly short distance away from the explosive. Somehow, I don't think he's taking Stanley's talents as a scientist very seriously. 

The scientist in question gives me a gleeful look. "Besides...everyone enjoys a good explosion." 

He's right. I can feel my pulse quicken, and in spite of my earlier dismissive words to Stanley, a nervous excitement is fluttering low in my belly. I still think that blowing up things for a living is a waste of time, but even I have to admit that it's interesting to watch. 

We wait. Nothing happens. 

Walter turns to face us, a mixture of disappointment and triumph dancing across his face. "See?" He shakes his head in exaggerated disgust and starts to walk forward. "It's what I thought. This material's inert." 

The air is suddenly split in two as the polymer explodes violently, the force of the blast sending a cloud of debris high into the air and flinging Walter to the ground like a rag doll. I take an involuntary step towards him, but stop when I see him sitting up. He's a bit groggy, but he's not hurt. 

Stanley looks at me in quiet triumph. "See what I mean?" 

  
~*~

As the dust settles, Spidel gives me a pleased look, obviously happy to have his claims vindicated. I nod at him before turning to watch Walter slowly getting to his feet. Spidel and Shays are making their way back into the warehouse, already deep in conversation. 

Walter is dusting off himself off, glaring at the detonation site as though it betrayed him by performing as Shays had promised. Nikita has also been watching him but now she turns her back on him, unable to hide her smile at his obvious annoyance at being proved wrong. Our eyes meet and her smile disappears, her lighthearted air dissolving instantly. The spectre of the Prague mission still hangs heavily between us, and my coolness since then has only served to alienate her. 

She flicks her hair over one shoulder with a careless hand. "So what happens now?" 

I let my gaze roam over her face for a few seconds before answering. We haven't spoken since our less-than-cordial parting in van access, and the tension between us has been a distraction. Feeling foolishly grateful that her direct question will allow me to break my self-imposed silence, I give her a direct answer. "I need to let Section know that the material is authentic." 

Nikita nods briefly, her lips pressed together in a tight line. For a brief moment, she looks as though she is going to speak, but after searching my face for a few seconds, she shrugs and turns away. I watch her walk towards Walter, unhappily aware that the air between us is a long way from being cleared. 

"You okay there, Walter?" 

Nikita slips an arm around Walter's waist, uncaring of the dust and dirt that is rubbing off on her jacket. 

"I'll be fine, Sugar. Just caught me a little off-guard, that's all." He grimaces and puts a hand to the small of his back, then looks up and catches my eye. "Who would have thought it would work, hey?" A look of concern crosses his face. "That stuff has three times the kick of our usual stuff. If Tyler gets hold of it..." He looks at me with dismay, the thought of the Freedom League with Shays' explosive in their possession too insidious to even contemplate. 

Walter straightens up with a groan, rubbing his hipbone ruefully. He gives Nikita a sheepish smile and she shakes her head at him in mock severity as she hugs him close. 

Their easy exchange causes a spark of envy to flare into life. Annoyed with my own thoughts, I frown and pull my cell phone out of my pocket. As usual, it's Birkoff who opens the channel. 

"Birkoff." 

"Michael? So what happened? What's the deal with Shays?" 

"His claim is legitimate." 

Birkoff's enthusiasm seems to know no bounds. "You're kidding me?" 

Wincing at the volume of his excited response, I pull the phone away slightly and continue. 

"Our equipment was not able to detect the polymer in its dormant state. There appeared to be a delay of approximately three seconds between the charge and the actual detonation, but it reacted exactly as Shays claimed it would. We'd need to bring a sample of the material back to Section for analysis in order to determine its actual properties." 

There is a brief pause, and I can faintly hear Birkoff's fingers clattering on his keyboard. "What sort of output are we talking about?" 

"Walter estimates it to be three times more powerful than our standard C4." 

A low whistle is Birkoff's only reaction to this information. "Okay...I'll need to relay this intel to Operations. I'll contact you shortly." 

I watch Nikita playfully dusting down the front of Walter's jacket and sigh silently as I terminate the call. _The sooner the better, Birkoff._

~*~

"Michael?" Walter has been keeping Spidel immersed in sorting paperwork while we wait for further orders from Section. Evidently growing impatient, he has sought me out. 

"Yes?" 

"What are we waiting on? We've tested the stuff...it's the real deal." 

It's been twenty minutes since I spoke to Birkoff, and our continued presence at the warehouse is starting to attract uneasy attention. I look at Walter and answer him quietly. "Shays and Spidel." 

Walter's eyes widen in alarm as he looks over his shoulder. "We don't have to cancel them, do we?" 

My eyes follow Walter 's gaze to where Nikita is laughing with Stanley Shays. There is a good reason for his concern. I know Nikita all too well, and the telltale signs are already there. Despite the company he keeps, Shays is an innocent in her eyes. 

I say nothing, and Walter leans closer to me. "Sugar's not going to be too happy if it comes down to that." 

I can see my own anxiety mirrored in Walter's eyes. "I know." 

My cell phone bleats quietly and Walter moves away, giving Nikita and Shays a last lingering glance. I take the call, walking towards the exit of the warehouse as Birkoff's unhappy voice comes on the line. 

"Michael, NSA has taken over on this one." 

This is a surprise, and it's not a welcome one. "What do you mean?" 

"Operations has decided that Shays and Spidel are non-hostile. He wants them off our hands. I guess he's giving them over to NSA for questioning." I stare at the dusty horizon with a growing sense of dread. Having seen the capability of Shays' toy, I'm not sure I want him in the hands of anyone but Section. 

Birkoff continues, resentment apparent in every word. "Our only job now is to clean out Shays' cache and bring every single sample back to Section. Two NSA agents will be there in forty-five minutes to pick up Spidel and Shays." 

"Fine." 

"One more thing, Michael. Operations wants Shays tagged with one of the standard thermo discs that Walter took with him. I guess he wants to keep tabs on NSA. It's like he doesn't trust them to do their job properly." 

_Something like that._

"The trackers are thermo- conducive, so somewhere on the skin is best...you'd better get Nikita to tag him." There is an annoying hint of laughter in Birkoff's voice, but he has a point. 

"Is that all?" 

"Yep. The NSA guys should be there soon. Good luck." 

~*~*~*~ 

I can tell straight away by the look on Michael's face when he returns to the workroom that he's pissed about something. He's got that little frown between his eyebrows, and he's walking too fast. I look away to hide my smile. _And here I thought I was the only one who managed to make him look like that._

"There's been a change of plans." Michael addresses Spidel and Shays in a tone of voice that leaves no room whatsoever for dissent. 

Spidel gets up from his chair in the corner. He has grown more and more irritated by our presence here as the day has worn on. I guess he feels much braver on his own turf. Apparently, he wasn't too confident when he was chatting to Madeline in the White Room. Birkoff just loves sharing those little tidbits with me. I wish he wouldn't. 

"What's going on?" 

Michael looks at Spidel coolly. "The National Security Agency has expressed an interest in learning more about your...product." 

"Woah!" This is from Stanley, who is now staring at Michael, disbelief etched on his pale face. "No way. I'm not getting involved with those guys." 

Given the fact that he was perfectly happy for his business partner to show their wares to a known terrorist, I find Stanley's protests a little hard to fathom. He looks at Spidel imploringly. "Richard..?" 

Michael and Spidel are still staring at each other in a silent battle of wills, and I have no doubt whatsoever who the winner will be. As I watch, all the fight seems to leave Spidel, his shoulders sagging in defeat as he finally turns to look at Stanley. 

"Sorry, Stanley. It's outta my hands now." 

"But..." 

Michael's voice cuts smoothly across Stanley's protests. "Two NSA agents will be here in thirty minutes to escort you to Washington. You may be gone for a few days. I suggest you pack anything you need now." 

Walter suddenly reappears at my side, carrying his metal box rather gingerly. He looks pretty happy, so I'm assuming that he's now the proud new owner of several chunks of polymer. He gives Michael a veiled glance before heading towards the exit. 

The two reluctant tourists start packing up their possessions, and I can feel Michael's eyes on me. When I look at him, he tilts his head imperceptibly toward the door that Walter has just disappeared through. I check to make sure that Stanley and Spidel are absorbed in their task and follow Michael quietly out into the bright sunshine. 

Walter has already stowed the explosives in the van and now presents me with a flat silver card covered with miniature tracking discs. 

I look at the discs, and then at Michael. "What's going on?" 

Walter is the one who reluctantly answers me. "Operations wants Shays fitted with one of these babies...just to be sure." 

I stare at the trackers, a faint sense of unease filtering through my mind. "Sure of what?" 

Michael takes the card from Walter and holds it out to me. "NSA will be here in half an hour. Walter will take care of Spidel. Get Shays packed and tagged." Bristling at Michael's officious manner, I pluck a tracker off the card and press it behind my ear, before giving him a curt nod and heading inside. 

"Nikita." Sighing with deliberate impatience, I swing around. If I didn't know him better, I'd almost think that Michael was smirking at me. "The tracker needs to be placed on the skin." 

I smile at him sweetly. "Don't worry, Michael. Stanley won't know what hit him." I watch Michael long enough to enjoy the sight of his eyes narrowing as my gibe hits home, then turn and walk back inside to wrestle with Stanley Shays. 

~*~*~*~ 

I sit on a high stool with a cracked leather seat and watch the resident teenage genius sullenly pack his meager possessions into a large black carry bag. 

"I still don't know why I've gotta go do this." 

Something about this guy reminds me of Birkoff...they both seem to nudge my 'big sister' tendencies into action. I swivel around on my seat, keeping my voice light and reassuring. 

"Oh, Stanley...it's no big deal. You'll spend a couple of days in Washington bragging to the brass about how smart you are." I flash him a smile. "You'll be back here blowing up things before you know it." He stops packing for a moment and frowns at his suitcase. "Well, they can't arrest me, because I haven't done anything wrong." "That's right." I don't know if I quite agree with his protestations of innocence, but his stubbornness is almost endearing. "Who knows...fifty years from now when they mention Nobel... and Oppenheimer...they might add _Stanley Shays_ to the list." 

Stanley gives me a toothy grin. "Are...are they going to pay me for this?" He tries to keep his voice casual but doesn't quite succeed. "Not that I care about the money." 

_Sure you don't._

"Oh, I know, I know." I survey the grimy workshop. "You have a _lifestyle_ to maintain." 

Stanley gives me an injured glance. "You don't have to be condescending." 

For all his bravado, he _is_ just a kid. I suddenly feel bad for giving him a hard time. "I was just teasing." 

Not quite mollified by my apology, he grows slightly defensive. "I could have made a lot of money doing R  & D for Dupont. My own condo...eighty grand a year." He looks at me, and smiles assuredly. "But I wanted to do things my way." 

" _Your_ way...I was curious about _your way_." He says nothing. "I was wondering what you were planning to tell your family and friends about _your way_..." Stanley doesn't look at me but instead becomes very intent on shoving a few last mysterious vials into his suitcase. The urge to scold him for his choice of business partners and career direction finally becomes too strong. "...the _selling explosives to terrorists_ way." 

This little dig finally gets a reaction. "I didn't know anything about that. Richard snowed me. Now that's the truth." He throws me a look of brave defiance. "I don't care if you believe me or not." 

Stanley straightens up and shuts his case with a snap. He's trying hard to be nonchalant, but I can tell that he is a bundle of nerves. _Poor kid._ I think this is the first time that I've actually been happy to tag someone. The thought that Section will be monitoring Stanley is strangely comforting. I don't know him at all, but I feel sorry for him...he has _no_ idea of the mess that he's in. 

I hop off my chair and walk over to him. "Got everything?" Stanley looks at me and nods. He suddenly looks so young, and it's no stretch to fuss over him in a motherly fashion. Grabbing hold of his carry bag, I help him sling it over his shoulder and straighten up the collar of his overcoat. 

I touch a fingertip to the back of my earlobe, picking up the tiny tracking device that will soon be somewhere on Stanley. Sending up a silent prayer that we won't have to use it, that he will be safe, I grab the lapels of his coat and tug him towards me. I soon discover that socially awkward young men are very easy to distract. Stanley is so shocked by the fact that I'm planting a kiss on him that he doesn't feel a thing as I slip a finger under his collar. Embarrassed, he pulls away at the last moment and the tracker ends up on his shirt. I hesitate for a moment, but I can hardly grab him again. _It will have to do._

I let him go and have to swallow a laugh at his dazed expression. "For luck, Stanley." 

It seems to take him a few moments to gather his wits about him, but he finally gives me a wobbly smile. "Thanks. " 

It does a girl's ego the world of good to be able to put that expression on a guy's face with just a little kiss, even if she _does_ have the sneaking suspicion that it was his first one. 

I give Stanley a little prod in the side to get him moving and we leave the workroom. The NSA agents are waiting outside, looking for all the world like hired thugs. _Which I suppose they are, I guess._ Richard Spidel is already in the car, and he doesn't look happy. _Tough. He's safer in the hands of the agency then anywhere else._ Stanley clambers into the back seat to sit next to Spidel a few seconds before the two NSA guys join them in the car. I can't help feeling a little twinge of apprehension when Stanley throws me a last look of mute appeal as the car pulls away. 

_Good luck Stanley._


	2. Chapter 2

The return journey to Section is a silent one. Nikita is hunched down in her seat, apparently asleep. Safe in the knowledge that Walter is engrossed in Shays' explosives, I lean back in my seat and study her. 

She looks tired, I think with a sudden pang. There is an unhealthy pallor beneath her already fair skin, and dark smudges under her eyes that were not there a few months ago. 

I let my mind drift, thinking of what I have seen Nikita endure over the last few months. Her unhappiness has been almost palpable. Her breezy persona is starting to splinter under the strain of keeping the sorrow buried deep inside from overwhelming her. I have stood by and watched life in Section gradually wear down her spirit, unable to help her and unable to explain why. 

Her mood swings have been more erratic since Madeline saw fit to use her as a guinea pig six weeks ago. Exposing Nikita to a mind-altering program was a gross error of judgment on Section's part. Nikita spent five days swinging between subliminally induced elation and the horrors of withdrawal, a week of private hell that only ended when she unsuccessfully tried to put a bullet through her head. 

When I found her smashing the phasing shell to pieces, my relief was almost overwhelming. It meant that she was angry rather than afraid. Her anger was what made her strong. It kept her focused. It kept her alive. 

But it's not anger that I see in those clear eyes any more. There is a dull weariness beneath her usual bravado, a sense of accepting the inevitable that makes my heart ache. 

My cell phone rings, quietly breaking into these pessimistic thoughts. Nikita stirs, and I avert my gaze quickly, not wanting her to wake and find me watching her once again. 

"Yes?" 

"Michael, we've got a problem." 

"What is it, Birkoff?" 

"A small aircraft on a routine flight from Tel Aviv to Sarajevo exploded in mid-air an hour ago, only forty minutes after take-off." 

My mind floods with an unwelcome certainty. Tel Aviv airport has some of the most sophisticated anti-terrorist security procedures in existence...any known explosive would have been detected instantly. It appears that we were not the only ones interested in conducting a test on Shays' polymer. 

"Tyler?" 

"Exactly. He was in Tel Aviv this afternoon. Drayson confirmed it a few minutes ago. Operations wants you back here now." 

 

~*~

 

Operations is waiting at van access when we disembark. Never a good sign. I glance at him quickly, taking in the heavy scowl, and my pulse quickens. Something else has happened since my last contact with Birkoff, and I have the sinking feeling that our involvement with Shays and Spidel is far from over. 

Walter hastily disappears down the other hallway towards munitions, but Nikita remains at my side as Operations begins an agitated briefing while we walk quickly towards Comm. "We've just heard. The NSA vehicle was ambushed." 

Given Operations' urgency, it's what I was expecting, but a flash of anger still surges through me. Damn. "What happened?" "The NSA guards were killed, along with Spidel." 

I think briefly of Spidel, but cannot dredge up any regret at his passing. My mind races furiously. The NSA guards and Spidel are dead. Evidently, they were expendable. 

"What about Shays?" Operations gives me a weary glance. "Apparently, he was the target. There was no sign of him." 

Nikita stiffens beside me, and I hasten to forestall her inundating Operations with a barrage of questions. I can understand her concern for Shays' welfare, but Operations is not in the frame of mind to make allowances for displays of emotion. 

"Do we know who did it?" Even as I ask the question, I know full well what the answer is going to be. Operations looks at me grimly. "Tyler. We know Spidel gave Tyler a sample of the polymer. The flight from Tel Aviv seems to have been Tyler's personal test of the material. Unfortunately, he now knows just how valuable that polymer would be to the Freedom League." 

I let out a tense sigh of frustration. Why would Tyler pay for the polymer if he could acquire it free of charge? NSA's failure to understand the magnitude of the task they had taken over from Section is inexcusable. 

"They grabbed Shays to extract the formula." I state flatly. 

Operations flicks me an impatient glance. "Exactly. We have to get Shays before that happens. It's back in our hands. NSA obviously has no idea how to deal with this mess they've created." 

We reach Birkoff's workstation to find him frowning over his keyboard. Nikita joins Birkoff and puts her bag down behind his desk. She seems more than a little shocked by this turn of events. 

Operations stands over Birkoff, his manner more abrupt than usual. "Birkoff, where are we on a location?" 

"I haven't been able to pick up the signal." Birkoff glances up at Nikita, a hint of doubt creeping into his tone. "You put it on Shays, right?" 

Nonplussed, she looks down at him. "Yeah, on his shirt when I hugged him." 

Birkoff frowns at her. "His shirt? I thought I told you his skin!" Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Operations watching this exchange through narrowed eyes. 

Nikita shots back a defensive reply. "What difference does it make?" 

Birkoff shakes his head, annoyed with her apparent lack of concern. "Thermal conductivity is completely different." Nikita bites her lip and looks down, a faint flush of embarrassment colouring her pale face. 

As if sensing that he has been unnecessarily harsh, Birkoff drops the subject, turning his attention back to his screen. "I should be able to..." His fingers fly nimble across the keys. "...got him." 

Slightly appeased, Operations slaps his hand down on the top of Birkoff's desk. "Good. Don't lose him." He turns to me. "Put together a convergence plan." Our eyes meet in a look of perfect understanding. There is no 'best case scenario' here. 

He pauses and then sweeps an impatient gaze over us as if annoyed by some lack of urgency on our part. "Let's go. Let's get Shays out of there." 

 

~*~

 

"Michael, I need to see you in my office." 

I eye the intercom on my desk warily. I've just spent the last thirty minutes hastily profiling a workable sequence to pull Shays out, and already changed into my field gear. The last thing I'm interested in are last minute adjustments from Operations. But disobeying direct orders from a superior is not a luxury that Section operatives enjoy. 

Operations is alone in his office, looking out over Section in seemingly quiet meditation. He turns when I enter, and I'm shocked at how weary he looks. His voice, however, is as strident as ever. 

"It is highly likely that Shays is still alive. Even if he has already given the Freedom League the formula, Tyler is intelligent enough to realize that they still can still use him in the future." 

"I agree." 

Operations stares out over Section once more. "If you can get him out alive, do it...but your primary concern is to stop Tyler from getting that formula. Regardless of whether Shays has handed over the information or not, that base must be incinerated." 

"And if Shays hasn't broken?" 

"He's acceptable collateral, Michael." He turns to meet my eyes, his pale gaze unwavering. "That formula would die with him." 

The image of Nikita laughing with Shays leaps into my mind before I can stop it, and I can't stop myself from replaying Walter's earlier words of warning. She's not going to be too happy if it comes to that. Nikita is profiled at second position. It's too late to take her off the team without attracting unwanted scrutiny from Operations and Madeline. 

Operations looks at me impatiently, waiting for confirmation of an order that he hasn't really given. The cancellation order for Stanley Shays. 

For once, we are in complete agreement. The knowledge that Shays possesses cannot be allowed to be exploited by the Freedom League...or anyone, for that matter. Already reconfiguring the mission profile in my mind, I nod at Operations brusquely. "I understand." 

 

~*~

 

"Michael, what's the procedure for retrieving Shays?" 

I look at Nikita carefully. She's trying desperately to appear unconcerned, but I know that she has taken this abduction to heart. 

"Leave him to me. You're at second position. I need you to get to your mark quickly." She nods at me briefly and looks at her panel with a deliberately casual air, but I can almost hear her mind whirring. 

The van stops with a sudden jerk and the opportunity to take Nikita aside is lost as she leaps to her feet and heads for the door, stuffing her hair up into a black cap at the same time. I let the rest of the team disembark before following, feeling oddly apprehensive. I have reconfigured the sequence with myself on point to ensure that I will be responsible for carrying out Operations' orders. And yet, I can't shake the feeling that it will not be that simple. 

Not for the first time, I rue the fact that I was unable to take Nikita out of play. She is going to have a difficult enough time accepting the cancellation after the fact. To have her involved, even peripherally, creates a potential emotional minefield. I watch her as she joins the rest of the team and swear silently. For the first time since the phasing shell debacle, Nikita seems to be filled with a sense of purpose. This profile could not have come at a worse time. 

The urgency of orchestrating Shays' 'retrieval' has meant that we are approaching the Freedom League base in daylight, never a comfortable situation. But the wire security fence causes few problems, and we encounter no resistance as we approach the building. The team scatters, leaving Nikita and I to enter from the west. I watch Nikita slip through an open doorway about 15 yards ahead of me before quickly ducking into the darkened entrance on my right. 

The warehouse is in a state of disrepair. To my alarm, I find that what should have been a clear passageway through to the lower level has been blocked by a section of the roof collapsing. Shays is being held on the lower level, and unless I exit the building and follow Nikita, I haven't a hope in hell of getting to him before she does. Damn it! The low murmur of voices drifts towards me, and I take a step back into the darkness. 

Nikita's breathy voice is suddenly in my ear. "I'm in." 

I let out a frustrated sigh and lean back against the wall, a sense of weary defeat overwhelming me. This is not good. 

"Everyone hold. Nikita's taking point." 

 

~*~

 

I always wondered what people meant by "having your heart in your mouth". Now I know. I think my stomach and lungs are in there too. I'm so wired by the fact that I managed to penetrate the second layer before Michael did that I'm feeling more than a little invincible. Exhilaration zaps along my veins as I inch my way down the darkened corridor, hardly daring to breathe. 

The rumble of male voices a few feet away makes my skin prickle coldly before I realize that I'm hidden from their sight by a pile of old wooden barrels. Ducking my head, I take a deep breath and keep going, more than a little relieved to reach the top of the staircase. According to Birkoff, Shays is being held somewhere on the lower level. Despite the circumstances, I can't keep a little grin from my face. I can get him out. 

I hit the lower level and keep walking, peering urgently into each dimly lit room as I move quickly through the dusty hallway. When I see Stanley, it almost doesn't register and I have to backtrack my steps. I didn't expect to find him so fast, and I can hardly believe he's actually here. 

He's alone, tied to a chair in the middle of the room. How easy is this? I'm so happy to see him I have to stop myself from rushing up and hugging him. But as I walk towards him, his eyes widen in fear, the blood draining from his face. I look behind me, but there's no one there. I suddenly give myself a mental slap on the forehead. I'm wearing a black balaclava...poor Stanley, he has no idea that it's me, rather than a Freedom League op. I yank my woolen cap off and smile at him broadly. 

The look on his face says it all. He's so happy to see me that he's actually speechless. We grin at each other foolishly for a few seconds, and then I reach out to tug at the ropes binding him to the chair. 

"Nikita, be careful! I'm wired." Wired? I look into his eyes. He's not joking. Fingers suddenly clumsy, I undo the buttons of his shirt, dreading what I'll find. Oh god. It's much worse than I expected, and my temper flares at the cruelty of what they've done to him. The bastards have strapped a bomb to the poor kid's stomach, and my gut churns with anger as I desperately try to think of the best way to get him out. 

He looks up at me, his eyes ablaze with panic in his pale face. "Nikita, get me out of here!" 

"I will, Stanley." 

"They're going to kill me. I gave them a bogus formula, it won't take them long to figure it out." "Just stay calm. I'm going to get you out of here." My whole body is shaking and I'm telling him to say calm? "Hurry..." 

I can't do this by myself. Praying that Michael has the right channel open, I appeal for help. "Michael, I've got him. He's restrained and booby-trapped. I'm going to need some help to get him out. 

Michael ignores my request. "We have incoming hostiles." 

_Hello? Need help with Stanley?_ I take a deep gulping breath and push the issue again. "OK, so what do we do about Stanley? 

There is a slight pause before Michael answers my question with one of his own. "Did he give them the formula?" Something makes me hesitate, an inflection in Michael's voice making me strangely uneasy. "Uh...not yet." 

"Okay." Michael pauses, and I wait expectantly for him to give me a solution. When his voice crackles to life in my ear again, his tone is so brutally casual that for a split-second I can't believe he's serious. 

"Cancel him and get out." 

~*~

When I was ten, I went to the local swimming pool with my mother. I snuck away to the high diving board when she wasn't looking, so confident that I could do exactly what the big kids were doing. I couldn't. I slammed into the water with a force that pushed the breath from my lungs and made my skin sting hotly. Panicked, I thought I would never be able to breathe again, and I knew that I could never feel that bad again, ever. 

But this is worse. Oh, God. This is so much worse. 

My stomach flips over in nauseated shock, and for a few seconds I find myself fighting the absurd urge to laugh in hysterical disbelief. Cancel him? 

No. There has to be another way. 

But even as I stand here, my mind screaming no, I know that there is no other way. There's no way to get him out alive in the few minutes I have left before our team is discovered. To leave him here to be tortured is unthinkable. 

How did I ever believe I could do what they wanted me to do? I'm the same stupid kid I was at ten, still convinced that I can do anything, so sure that nothing can hurt me. Hot tears of anger well up in my eyes, blurring my vision. Damn you, Michael! How could you ask me to do this?! 

"Are they coming to get me?" 

I swallow hard and look over my shoulder, unconsciously looking for incoming hostiles. "Yeah. They're coming." 

"Well, they're going to need some ballast weights and a voltage supply. You'd better tell them." 

I let his words wash over me, knowing there is no point in taking notes on how to dismantle the bomb. Hopelessness soaks into my heart and I struggle to give Stanley an answer that won't frighten him. "Yeah, they already know." 

Stanley lets out his breath in a relieved gasp. "I thought I was going to die in here." I can hear the smile in his voice, and the guilt tears through my gut like a bullet. "You know, Nikita...when I get out of here, I'm going to grow you a diamond." 

Please Stanley...please be quiet. Don't be happy that I've found you. With a shaking hand, I raise my gun until it is aiming at the back of his head. 

He babbles on, his words tripping over each other in a rush of relief and adrenalin. "I can do it...all it is is a carbon plasma, but it'll be real, you'll love it." Stanley hesitates and through my tear blurred eyes I can see him trying to turn his head, trying to see me. "Nikita?" 

I find myself shaking my head, my thoughts confused and disorientated. No...no diamond. I have to close my eyes to blink away the stinging tears, wishing foolishly that I could just open them again and be far away from this hell. 

I stare down at the gun as it trembles in my unsteady grip, my mind and heart shrieking together in a confusion of sorrow and denial. 

I can't do it. 

_You have to. You can't leave him here to die._

I can't do it. 

_You can't save him. Do it now! You can't leave him here to their mercy._

Stanley's frightened voice jerks me back and my heart lurches unsteadily. "Nikita!" I look at the gun, and I look at Stanley, waiting in excited relief for me to save him. 

I can't do it. 

"I'm sorry, Stanley." I lower the gun and turn my back on him, walking quickly towards the exit. My breath is burning in my lungs, my legs shaky. I'm going to be sick. 

His terrified voice chases after me. "Where are you going?!" 

I put my head down and keep going, choking back the bile rising at the back of my throat as the realisation of what I've just done slams home. I've just left Stanley to certain torture and death because I'm not strong enough to end his pain before it can truly begin. 

What have I done? 

 

~*~

 

 _Cancel him and get out._

I stand behind the security fence and wrestle with my conscience. I had no choice. When Nikita took the point position, she took the responsibilities that came with it. I had no choice. 

I watch my team appear from several different directions, noting with detached satisfaction that we have sustained no casualties. Scanning the approaching operatives, I realize with a sinking feeling that Nikita is not among them. My pulse quickens as suspicion flares into life, a hollow echo from the past pushing past my defenses. 

_I can't pull the trigger._

Nikita finally emerges from the building, walking quickly across the grounds. Something about the way she is moving sets off every alarm bell in my mind. She's highly agitated and trying to hide it. She turns around to look over her shoulder with every second step she takes, nearly stumbling over the rough ground in her distraction. 

Nikita ducks underneath the wire fencing, a look of panic crossing her face as she realizes that I'm waiting for her. Head bowed, she brushes past me, obviously intent on reaching the van without having to speak to me. I take two steps and reach out for her, curling my fingers around her upper arm tightly, forcing her to stop. 

"Did you cancel him?" 

Nikita won't look at me, but I can see that her eyes are damp and red-rimmed. A shiver of dread skitters down my spine. I try to tell myself that tears would be her natural reaction to carrying out cancellation orders on an innocent, but the sickening certainty churning in my gut grows as her face pales and she stares at the ground. She finally answers my question, her voice flat. "I couldn't." My mind reeling at the implications of her admission, I can only stare at her, disbelief warring with the dull realisation that I was half-expecting her answer. 

Nikita tries to wrench her arm out of my grasp before attempting a determined step past me. I tighten my grip and pull her closer, panic roughening my movements. I only just manage to resist the urge to shake her. Pushing my face close to hers, I bite out the words angrily, afraid to believe what I've just heard. 

"What do you mean?"

She finally looks at me with a haunted expression. "I just couldn't." Nikita's eyes burn into mine, silently beseeching me to understand. "Not in cold blood."

I let go of her arm abruptly and she hastily moves past me and climbs into the transport. My mind staggering under the enormity of the consequences of her actions, I stare unseeing at the Freedom League base camp. For a few foolishly hopeful seconds I consider the possibility of a second assault, but I know it's not possible. 

Stanley Shays is still very much alive and very much in the hands of the Freedom League. We have failed. 

 

~*~

 

Michael slams the door of the van hard behind him, his face tight with fury. Unable to watch him any longer, I scrunch my eyes up tightly, hoping to block out his anger as much as stop myself from bawling. I try to swallow the hard lump in my throat, but it just won't go away. 

What the hell was Michael thinking, asking me to cancel that kid? Is he so blind to who I really am that he believed I would be able to do it without batting an eyelid? I shake my head. This isn't Michael's fault. It's mine...my fault for letting Section take over my life, for letting them put a gun in my hand and death in my heart. 

The van suddenly lurches violently over the rough terrain, nearly jolting me out of my seat. Startled, I open my eyes to find Michael watching me, his expression totally unreadable. The tears that I have been fighting prick hotly at the back of my eyes. Embarrassed, I brush my sleeve across my eyes. The other team members are very carefully ignoring me. I don't blame them. 

For once, the journey back to Section passes quickly. The thought of facing Operations is making me feel sick. I cross my arms across my chest and stare miserably at the back of Michael's head. He had a very short, very terse conversation with someone at Section about ten minutes ago. I think it was Birkoff, but he was ended the call so fast I couldn't be sure. 

I look around the van. Everyone is either sleeping or talking quietly. Suddenly uncaring of what the rest of the team might think, I leave my seat and make my way to where Michael has sat, unmoving, for the last two hours. 

His expression doesn't change as I slide into the empty seat beside him. I can almost feel the waves of anger rolling off him. I've only seen him like this once before. I hadn't been able to pull the trigger that day either. But at least he yelled at me then...why doesn't he chew me out? Anything would be better than this icy wall of rage that he's thrown up. 

Praying that he can't hear the frightened hammering of my heart, I lean towards him and whisper softly. "Michael?" 

His head snaps up and I recoil instinctively. His eyes are dark with fury in his pale face, his body almost vibrating with tension. We stare at each other for a long moment before he blinks and looks away, as though he can't bear to look at me. 

My mouth is so dry with nervousness that I can't speak. Please understand...I couldn't do it. 

I take a deep breath and reach out hesitantly, touching him gingerly on the upper arm. Michael flinches and I jerk my hand away, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment flooding my face. Swallowing my nervousness, I try again. "Michael, please..." 

Michael slowly turns his head to look at me with dull eyes. 

"It wasn't your fault." He says nothing, and I fumble for the right words. "It's my mess...my responsibility." Frustrated by his silence, I hiss at him urgently. "Please tell me what I can do to fix it!" 

He lets out his breath on a frayed sigh and closes his eyes, wincing as though in physical pain. Opening them again, he replies without looking at me. 

"Let me handle it. Say nothing." 

Guilt surges through me. I can't let him take the blame for my mistake. "But it wasn't your fault." 

Michael's eyes are suddenly boring into mine with an intensity that almost frightens me. "Say nothing, Nikita." 

 

~*~

 

We arrive at Section all too soon. My delaying tactic of switching to B channel while in transit without informing Birkoff will have only served to antagonise Operations further, but I needed to buy myself some time...time in which to think of a plausible explanation for the mission's failure that wouldn't incriminate Nikita. 

It's an impossible task. Operations will have already had Birkoff retrace the mission sequence. He will already know that the operative at fault was Nikita. They'll put her in abeyance. Cold panic grips my chest, squeezing the breath tightly in my lungs. Impossible task or not, I am still going to try. 

I glance at Nikita quickly as we wait at van access. She is pale but composed, staring straight ahead with a stubborn set to her jaw. I told her to say nothing, to let me deal with Operations' questions. She only shook her head at me, blinking back tears before stalking to the back of the van for the rest of the journey. 

As he was when we returned from our first meeting with Stanley Shays, Operations is waiting in the hallway outside van access. The rest of the team slip past him quickly, as though trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the storm that is about to hit. 

To my dismay, Nikita doesn't follow the rest of the team through to the debriefing room, but remains standing behind me, positioned at my left shoulder as if to present a united front. 

Operations stares at Nikita for a moment before turning to me. "What happened?" 

"Shays was wired with explosives. There was no time to get him out." 

He glares at me impatiently. "That's not what I mean. You had orders...why weren't they implemented?" 

There is a hint of betrayal in his voice, as though he cannot believe that I failed to follow his oblique directive to cancel Shays regardless of whether he had broken or not. 

"We had incoming hostiles. Nikita was in danger of imminent discovery." To my dismay, I sound rattled, my words coming out in a nervous rush. 

The threat to Nikita's life makes little impression on him. "So?" 

"Our team would have been exposed. We were at a tactical disadvantage." I press the point home. "None of us would have made it out. " 

Operations looks at me through narrowed eyes. "What about the formula?" 

Before I can speak, Nikita answers the question, stumbling over the words slightly. She's trying to appear unconcerned but I can feel her arm trembling against mine. "Shays...gave them a fake." 

Damn her...why did I think that she would do as I asked? My stomach drops as I see the sneering disbelief in Operations' eyes, his cool stare raking her face. 

"So, let me understand this." His pale eyes bore into mine. "We had the opportunity to contain the situation, but we didn't...because we were at risk." Sarcasm drips from every single word. He looks at Nikita, his gaze glittering with malice before turning his attention back to me. 

Our eyes hold for a long moment, a silent exchange of blame and acknowledgment, before his expression hardens further. "Michael...in my office." 

He turns and walks swiftly down the hallway. I can feel Nikita's panicked gaze, but I can't speak to her, can't look at her. There is no time to explain that I am so furious with her because I am afraid...afraid for her. 

I can try to steer Operations' focus away from her role in the mission, but the futility of such a tactic is brutally obvious. I know him too well. He has already laid the blame for our failure squarely at Nikita's feet, and nothing I can say will dissuade him. 

I move away from Nikita, but not quickly enough to avoid hearing her quietly whispered words, a miserable plea for forgiveness that pierces my heart. It's all I can do to keep walking. 

 

~*~

 

"I'm sorry...sorry." Michael doesn't look back. He can't hear you, Nikita. I stand and watch him follow Operations swiftly down the corridor, feeling useless and wretched. 

I couldn't do it, just couldn't do it. I think of Stanley, telling me that he's going to make a diamond for me, and a hot wave of shame floods my heart. What have I done? It would have been kinder to cancel him, but I just didn't have the guts to do it. What you did was far worse...you abandoned him. 

I lean against the wall in the hallway, trying not to think of Stanley's face and failing miserably. He trusted me to save him, and I let him down in the worst possible way. What he will go through now will be worse than death, and it's all my fault. 

After a long while, I walk slowly through Section but I don't know what to do, where to go. Walter and Birkoff are both at their workstations but I can't bear to see the pity in their eyes. News of a mission gone bad always travels fast in Section, and I'm not sure I could bear their questions right now. 

I hover outside Michael's office, but he is nowhere to be seen. He must still be with Operations. Guilt swamps my thoughts, my skin flushing hotly. Michael didn't hesitate to take the blame for my mistake, taking the full brunt of Operations' anger. I now understand that his silence on the return journey was not only because he was livid with me...he was trying to think of a way to keep me from being blamed for the mission's failure. 

Standing in the middle of a room filled with people, I feel totally isolated. Alone. A fragmented memory floats through my consciousness and I grab hold of it gratefully. 

_We're your family now, Nikita._

I square my shoulders and walk slowly to Madeline's office. 

Madeline is studying surveillance tapes when I arrive. I hesitate, hovering in the doorway. She doesn't look up or invite me in, but I have the feeling that she's been waiting for me to come to her. I force myself to walk into the room, but I still don't know if this is the right thing to do. 

"I heard about your mishap." I glance at her quickly. Bad news certainly does travel fast around here. She's still not looking at me, but there's no reproach in her voice, just a silent invitation to explain my actions. 

Now that I'm actually here, my words seem to be all choked up in my throat. I sit down on the stool near the window with my back to her. I don't know where to start. 

"What's wrong?" Madeline's voice is concerned, almost motherly. 

I suck in a deep breath. I don't want to cry in front of Madeline, but I just have to get this off my chest. Turning around, the sympathy in her eyes is nearly my undoing but I finally manage to answer. "I don't know if I can do this anymore." The tears start to sting behind my eyes as I struggle to get the words out. "I don't know how I ever did." 

Madeline studies me intently, her voice soft and reassuring. "That's what you said when you first came to us. But...in spite your own self-doubts, you've performed quite well. " 

I look at her, knowing that any grip I had on my emotions is rapidly slipping away. My voice doesn't even sound like mine any more. "Where you see targets, and security risks..." I swallow the knot of anguish that is thickening my throat, fighting to get the words out. "...I see flesh and blood. Someone's son." I think of Stanley and want to weep. "Someone's friend." 

"That's OK. " 

All the furious feelings of anger and guilt that I've held inside for so long spill over at her calm dismissal of my misery. "It's not okay!" Madeline's dark eyes widen slightly at my furious retort, but she says nothing. I hold her eyes with mine, silently pleading with her to understand. "I can't live like this...I can't take it" 

She studies me, concern etched on her face. "What about when you're not here? How's that going?" 

I look at her. When I'm not here, all I do is think about how miserable I feel when I am here. 

"I don't sleep, lost my appetite." I think of my lonely apartment, and all the hours that I've spent by myself, too paranoid about that damn phone ringing to go out. I think of Carla, and all the times I've have to lie to her. "I'm afraid to make a friend outside of the Section." 

"What about Michael?" 

Giving her a brittle smile, I throw his name back at her sarcastically. "Mi-chael..?" What about Michael, Madeline? Bitter resentment wells up inside me. "A friend's someone you can trust." 

Even as I say the words, I know that my misery is blinding me to the truth. I do trust him. I trust him with my life. But not my heart...not any more. I don't trust the way he makes me feel when I'm with him. He makes me want things from him that I know he'll never be able to give, and sometimes I hate him for it. 

Madeline seems to understand exactly what I am implying. "It's true, Michael has played a role with you from time to time. He's doing his job." She tilts her head to one side, her voice softening. "It doesn't mean he's incapable of caring." 

My heart lurches. I know that...but it's just not enough any more. I bite out the words angrily. "Michael's not the solution to my problem, Madeline." 

"What is?" She is being so kind to me, and it's almost more than I can bear. 

My heart in my throat, I manage to ask the question that has haunted every waking thought for the past three years. "I need to know that, one day, when the Section is done with me..." I take a deep breath, struggling to hang on to my composure. "... and I have performed all the functions I'm capable of...that I'll be free." I turn to watch Madeline's face, unable to keep a foolishly hopeful smile from my face. 

"Will I?" My whole body seems to grow taut in the short silence that follows, my blood humming in my ears as I wait for her reaction. 

Madeline gives me a sad smile that sends a shiver of dread down my spine. "What kind of answer would you like?" 

My own smile drains away as her implication hits home. She will tell me the truth if I ask for it, no matter how brutal, and I'm suddenly not sure I want to hear it. I take a deep breath and look her in the eye, a cold sickness churning in my stomach. "The truth." 

"No. You will never be free from the Section." 

I was waiting for them, expecting them. Yet her words still pierce my heart like a thousand shards of glass, ripping any hope that I hid deep inside myself to shreds in a split-second as I finally accept the truth of her answer. I will never be free from the Section. The sadness swells inside me as I let Madeline's words bleed into my heart and I can't hold back the tears any longer. They slide unchecked down my face as I lift my head and look at her, my soul torn between hate and gratitude. I could rage against the injustice of it all, run riot through Section demanding to know why I was chosen to live in this hell, but what would I gain? A swift trip to Containment, more than likely. No. My life is still mine. I'll decide when it's over, not Section.I won't let them win. I let out my breath on a ragged sigh and reluctantly let gratitude overpower the hatred, quietly giving Madeline her answer in a voice that sounds thick with tears. "Thank you." My breath feels tight in my chest, and my legs are shaky as I slowly get to my feet. I have nowhere to go, and yet I cannot be in this room for one second longer. I will never be free from the Section. I asked Madeline for the truth, and she gave it to me. We look at each other for a long time, and I realize that she understands exactly how I feel. She's no freer than I am. We're all trapped together in this hell on earth, and at this moment...I have no idea how I am going to make it through another day. My eyes stinging with tears, I give Madeline one last sad smile and walk slowly from the room. 

 

~*~

 

"Do you understand the severity of the situation that Nikita has created by her failure to carry out Shays' cancellation, Michael?" Operations turns from his perusal of Section life below us to stare at me with hostile eyes. 

"Yes." 

"Are you quite sure?" I say nothing. Frustrated by my silence, he goes on the attack again. "Why didn't she follow your orders?" 

"Our team was at risk of exposure." Even to my own ears, my excuses sound feeble; a totally inadequate attempt to explain a mistake that should never have been made. 

"Because of the incoming hostiles?" Operations throws my own words back at me mockingly. 

I say nothing. 

"Why weren't you on point as profiled?" 

"The intel was incomplete...I was unable to gain access to the lower level from my point of entry." 

Operations' face is taut with anger. He looks at his panel. 

"Nikita knew that Shays had given Tyler a bogus formula?" Hopelessness fills my mind. There is no use in lying...Nikita has already given Operations this answer herself. 

"Yes." 

He takes a step closer to me, his light eyes never leaving mine. "Nikita is quite intelligent." He says the last word with a sneer. "She must have realized that Tyler would eventually discover Shays' deception, and that Shays would more than likely be tortured for the genuine formula?" 

Acid burns the back of my throat, and very single word I speak seems like a betrayal. "Yes." 

"How much of a window did Nikita have to carry out the cancellation orders before she would have been exposed?" 

I look away, my mind racing frantically for an answer that will not damn her. Operations, however, seems to sense a weakness. He takes yet another step towards me until he is standing right in front of me. 

"How....long...Michael?" Beaten, I turn to meet his rigid stare. I'm sorry, Nikita. 

"Three minutes at most." 

His gaze seems to rake the very skin from my bones. "It doesn't take three minutes to put a bullet into the back of someone's head, Michael." 

We stare at each other for a few seconds, unspoken hostility bristling in the air around us. Operations finally breaks the silence, his voice hard and unforgiving. 

"Fix it." 

 

~*~

 

My legs feel as though they've been filled with lead. I walk slowly through Section, Madeline's words still tumbling through my mind. 

I'll never be free. Never. 

No matter how hard I work, how many innocents I save. A sense of miserable hopelessness wells up inside me. And there's nothing I can ever do that can make amends for Stanley's life. 

I tried so hard to stay my own person, to do what I thought was right. But for every innocent I try to protect, another one dies. There is evil everywhere...for every single piece of scum that I remove from this life, there will be another to take its place. Nothing I do seems to make a difference. 

I stand on the main floor of Section and think of all the people here that I've been close to, made friends with, laughed with. I've seen them die, one by one, either by the enemy's hand or by Section's. I'm afraid to get close to anyone anymore, too scared that as soon as I come to love someone, I'll lose them. But I can't stop myself from caring about these people. Walter, Birkoff. Michael. How much longer can they survive? No one is safe in Section. Panic flutters through me, and I clench my fists tightly as the thought of losing them stabs my heart like a knife. I can't bear it. I just can't. 

I have to get out of here. I've never suffered from claustrophobia, but I feel as though the walls are closing in on me. I can't stay down here another second. I need to see the sun...I want to breathe real air. I turn on my heel and walk quickly toward the ground access elevator, my heart pounding, feeling absurdly as though I am running from a danger that no one else can see. 

As I pass by Michael's office, the door opens. Damn it. I don't look at him. 

"Nikita." It takes every scrap of strength that I possess to keep walking. If I stop, if I talk to him, I don't know if I'll be able to leave. I shake my head in confusion. I just can't be with him at the moment. I don't trust myself. My head feels as though it is going to explode with the pressure of my conflicting thoughts. I have to get out of here. I feel as though I'm walking along a razor's edge, and one concerned look from Michael is all that it would take to rip me in two. 

I flee to the world above, running from demons that I know I can never outrun. I stifle the almost hysterical laugh that bubbles up in my throat at the brutal irony of my actions. Trying to find solace in a world that thinks I'm dead. 

Standing on the pavement, I tilt my face to the afternoon autumn sun, reveling in its feeble heat, still hugging my arms close to my body. I feel as though I will never be warm again. What am I going to do? I don't want to go home to my soulless apartment, and I can't bear to return to Section. I start to walk slowly along the street in the vague direction of my apartment, oblivious to the people pushing past me impatiently. I have nowhere to go, and all the time in the world to get there. 

 

~*~

 

I close my eyes and press my fingers hard against my temples, hoping to ease the relentless throbbing that is making it hard to concentrate. Staring at the figures on the screen, a feeling of utter futility comes over me. I've gone over this sequence a dozen times, and there is no feasible way to bring about a satisfactory result without major losses. 

The need to get out of this office, even for a few minutes, seizes me. As I push back my chair and glance through the open blinds, a flash of blonde hair snares my gaze, and I stand motionless and watch Nikita for a few seconds. She is standing in the middle of Section, her hands clenched tightly by her sides. She turns her head and looks around, her dejection so palpable that it makes my chest ache. As I watch, she seems to come to some kind of decision and starts to walk quickly in the direction of the ground exit access. 

The urge to speak with her is too strong to resist and I open the door just in time to see her stride past my office. 

"Nikita." 

Nikita pales, visibly flinching at the sound of my voice, but doesn't stop. She puts her head down and increases her pace, and all I can do is watch her disappear into the shadows of the access corridor. Slightly taken aback, I slowly close the door and return to my desk, staring unseeing at the figures in front of my suddenly blurry eyes. 

She's been with Madeline, I know that much. Was she summoned, or did she seek out Madeline's counsel of her own volition? I think of the sense of defeat she radiated, and my gut clenches with anxiety. I've never seen her like that. Even during the incident with the phasing shell, there was still that hidden core of strength beneath the fragility. Today, there was nothing. 

In a vain effort to keep from dwelling on Nikita, I immerse myself once more in the profile, finding temporary solace in the solid world of percentages and detonation marks. The light knock at my door takes me unawares. 

"Yes?" 

Madeline is the last person that I expected, or wanted, to see, and I hastily blanket my surprise. She shuts the door behind her with a soft click, and walks gracefully to stand in front of my desk. 

"I've had a rather enlightening conversation with Nikita." The combination of her sudden appearance and her opening remark conspire to lower my defenses, and I find myself replying rather too quickly. 

"What about?" 

"She came to see me." Madeline watches me as she speaks, her gaze calm. "It seems that her refusal to cancel Shays is merely a symptom of a much larger problem." 

She pauses, waiting for my reaction. Suddenly weary of the never-ending word games, I drop any pretence at indifference. 

"What do you mean?" 

Madeline walks slowly over to the window before replying. She gazes through the blinds for a few moments before turning back to me. 

"Nikita feels that she can no longer perform the duties required of her by Section." Her answer is no surprise, and yet hearing the words spoken aloud sends a cool shudder of dread skittering through me. 

Madeline continues, every softly spoken word effortlessly piercing my carefully constructed shield of detachment. 

"She asked me if she would ever be free from the Section." 

Pulse jerking unsteadily in my throat, I meet Madeline's eyes with a calm I am far from feeling. "What did you tell her?" 

Madeline smiles at me almost sadly. "What she asked for, Michael. The truth." 

Nausea churns deep in my gut as the full implication of Madeline's words slams home, the poignant memory of Nikita standing alone in the middle of Section rearing up inside my mind. She's given up. 

Panic flutters in my chest, and I stare at my hands on the top of the desk, struggling to keep my thoughts hidden from Madeline. After a few seconds, I raise my eyes to hers once more. 

"What was her reaction?" 

"She seemed to take it quite well." Madeline looks at me, her dark eyes searching mine. "Perhaps too well." 

Our eyes meet in a look of perfect understanding before she turns on her heel and walks out of my office, shutting the door gently behind her. 

 

~*~

 

Legs stretched out carelessly in front of me, I slump on my favourite park bench and watch the children squealing as they dart among the playground equipment. I come here whenever I have down time, as though to reassure myself that life still exists outside Section. Sometimes it cheers me up. Today, it was a mistake to come here. 

I watch a couple with a newborn baby, smiling at them through my tears. They are totally wrapped up in their child and each other, and I can hardly bear the pain that rips through my heart. Unbidden, my hand drops to my stomach, suddenly despising the taut muscle and smooth skin beneath my shirt. Empty. Lifeless. 

Will I always have this emptiness inside me? Hell, I don't even know if I ever wanted a child, but that choice has been taken from me. My whole damn life has been taken from me, and I'm so afraid that I will never know why. 

What would my mother think of me, of what I have become. A killer who lies and cheats. I'm sure it's no less than she expected. Why do I still love her? She treated me like garbage...worse than garbage. The drugs and the alcohol can only excuse so much...she threw me out of her life without a second thought. I drop my head into my hands and try to picture her face, trying to think of a time when we were happy together...when I knew she loved me. I can't do it. 

And yet I still love her...even though she didn't love me enough to protect me. I trusted her and she failed me. Just like I failed Stanley. Oh god...how did I get here? I can never wake up from this nightmare...it will just go on and on and on. 

For what feels like hours, I simply sit and watch the children playing, tears streaming down my face. The hovering parents occasionally dart curious looks in my direction but they soon realize that I'm no threat to them. They probably think that I've had a fight with my boyfriend, or just lost my secretarial job. The thought brings fresh sorrow, my already swollen eyes brimming again with stinging tears. I would give anything to have those sorts of problems. Anything. 

_You will never be free from the Section_. I shut my eyes and replay Madeline's soft words in my head, over and over again. Never free. Never. 

No. I clench my fists tightly and open my eyes to stare blurrily at the happy families playing all around me. There is more than one sort of freedom. My heart starts to bang unsteadily against my ribs, my mind momentarily struggling to comprehend the enormity of my dark thoughts, one word reverberating inside my soul. 

Free. 

A strange feeling of peace comes over me slowly...an exhausted acceptance of a decision that I no longer have the strength to resist. There will be other people to protect the innocents. I just can't do it any more. 

I've had enough. 

 

~*~

 

Despite the chill in the air, I can feel the sweat trickle down my back as I take a left turn onto Rue Martinet, hands damp in their gloves as they grip the steering wheel tightly. Where is she? She must be along here somewhere. 

Nikita may be unpredictable, but in many ways she is a creature of habit. I know that this is the route she takes home. I also know that there is a park near her apartment that she quite often visits on her way home from Section. The park boasts a largish pond with ducks and other wild birds, and is a popular haunt for local families. 

I drive slowly, my eyes straining to catch a glimpse of that achingly familiar blonde hair while Madeline's parting words hum in my ears. 

After Madeline closed the door behind her, I picked up the phone with an unsteady hand. There was no answer. If Nikita was there, she wasn't answering. I tried her cell phone with the same result. No answer. I sat in a dazed fog of indecision for no more than a few seconds, before pushing my chair back abruptly and leaving the office. 

I knew quite well that my viewing the surveillance tapes from Nikita's apartment would be logged, but I was beyond caring about protocol or consequences. I fast-forwarded through the day's tape with a growing sense of unease as the footage revealed no sign of Nikita returning home. 

I slow the car to a crawl as I approach the park, my heart thumping unsteadily against my ribs. A family wagon rejoins the traffic a few yards ahead of me and I ease into the empty parking space. 

Self-doubt suddenly assails me. What am I doing here? If Nikita is distraught because of the Shays fiasco, my presence will hardly soothe her nerves. 

I scan the area. The park is not busy, and it doesn't take long to spot Nikita. She is sitting alone on a park bench near the playground equipment. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her head slightly bowed. I feel my tension ease at the sight of her, despite her obvious distress. I sit, hardly daring to breath, as I watch Nikita watch the children. Her eyes follow them avidly, and as I look at her face, I think of all that has been taken away from her. 

A young couple with a baby are enjoying an afternoon picnic only a few yards away from her. Nikita smiles at the child through her tears, and something tightens inside me as she closes her eyes and presses her palm against her abdomen. 

Buffeted by a wave of feeling I no longer have the strength to withstand, I can only sit and watch as Nikita weeps for everything that she can never have. 

 

~*~

 

The elevator seems so slow, and the sense of calm that I had found in the park is rapidly evaporating, leaving behind only a misery that twists deep in my chest. I lean against the elevator wall and close my eyes, not wanting to see my reflected image in the mirrored wall opposite. I can't bear to look at myself. Not now. 

Fumbling deep in my pocket with fingers that tremble coldly, I finally find my key and open the apartment door. As soon as I step inside a thousand memories and regrets assail my senses, and I freeze, confusion filling my mind. This is my home. I shake my head in an angry denial. No. This was never my home. This is my prison. My living death sentence. I never asked for this. Resentment simmers beneath my fear, breaking through as I look around me with eyes that can finally see the brutal truth. 

I can't live like this. 

There is a cold mustiness in the air, as though I have been gone for weeks instead of two days. I toss my keys onto the kitchen bench and shrug out of my jacket that smells of the dust of another city. Amidst the bewildering tangle of thoughts crashing around inside my head, one despairing desire is clanging like a bell. 

I have to make them understand that I never deserved this life. 

The laptop is sitting open on the dining room table and I move toward it as though drawn by a siren's song. My breath catches hard in my throat as I walk unsteadily through the kitchen, unable to stop my gaze from drifting towards the place that has been in my mind for the last few hours...the top cupboard, where I hide my personal weapon. My gun. My gut churns with sickness as the fulfillment of a desperate decision inches closer, and I have to force myself to keep walking, one slow footstep after the other. 

I stare at the screen for few seconds, suddenly afraid. As soon as I touch the keyboard, there's no turning back. Do it. Do it now. My fingers seem to move over the keyboard of their own volition, but the words are all my own, a cry wrenched from deep inside, a final plea for someone to believe in my innocence, that I never belonged in Section. 

_The only sins I ever committed were on behalf of the Section. I'm only guilty of not taking charge of my own destiny._

I stop typing and let the darkness wash over me, the memory of three long years of pain and regret, confusion and suffering seeming to scald my heart and soul. Staring around at my luxuriously appointed home, I've never felt so alone in all my life. 

Every time I pull the trigger, a little bit more of myself withers and dies, my very soul slowly being crushed with every day that passes. 

I wake up each morning in a sweat from dreams in which I can't breathe, can't move. I can't live like this. If this is the only life I can have, I don't want it any more. I stretch trembling fingers over the keyboard, fighting the urge to slam the laptop shut with every word that I type. 

_A fake obituary claimed I died in prison. In the end, that statement is true._

My heart pounding in my chest, I stare at the words for a few seconds. Will Michael read it? Will he finally believe that I was innocent? The thought of Michael sends a fresh wave of despair crashing over me. But Michael can't help me any more. No one can. 

Don't think about him. Don't think about Walter or Birkoff. Just do it 

Almost in a trance, I get to my feet and walk into the kitchen. One bullet, and all this will be over. Gone. No more killing. I open the cupboard and take out the gun. No more lying. I chamber the clip hard. No more blood. I click the safety off. No more pain. Somehow I end up standing near my laptop, my back braced against the wall. Just peace. 

I was so sure that I would cry, but my eyes are hot and dry. Don't think about it. Just do it. The world thinks you're dead...dead to the world...dead inside...dead. 

The metal of the gun feels cold where it rests against my forehead. I push it harder into my skin, desperate to feel something...anything...even pain. The tears finally come, scalding my eyes as I put my thumb on the trigger, but I feel numb... anesthetized, as though all my grief and pain has dissolved into a dead nothingness. I close my eyes, desperately wanting to shut out the faces and memories that are hurtling through my head. 

Do it. No more pain. No more lies. You'll be free. Free. 

I push my thumb against the trigger, bile rising in my throat. The blood is pounding in my ears so loudly that the knocking on my door takes a few seconds to register. I freeze, the gun still pressed against my forehead, as the realization that someone is outside my door sinks in. Another knock comes, and then a voice calling my name loudly, urgently. 

Michael. 

I wrench the gun away from my temple, but I can't seem to move, my thoughts a confusion of fear and resentment. What is he doing here? Why can't he just let me go? 

He knocks again, louder this time, and I know that he won't stop until I answer the door. I have no doubt that he will kick it down if I don't open it. My heart fluttering madly against my ribs, I click the safety back on the gun with unsteady fingers before walking slowly through the kitchen toward my front door. 

Fighting back tears of both anger and relief, I put the gun carefully back in its usual place, take a deep breath, and answer the door. 

 

~*~

 

I press my hand against the cool wood of Nikita's apartment door, feeling my heartbeat gradually return to normal. After what seemed like hours of silent contemplation, Nikita left the park with a worrying sense of urgency. To my frustration, my efforts to stay with her were hampered by the late afternoon traffic, causing me to finally abandon the car and follow her on foot, but the delay has given her a good ten minutes' head start on me. 

Her apartment is deathly quiet, and for one terrible moment I start to believe that I was wrong, that she hasn't come home but sought refuge elsewhere. 

I knock on the door with a heavy hand and an even heavier heart. "Nikita." 

Nothing. I rap my knuckles against the wood again, and lean closer to the door, ears straining. After a long silence, the door finally opens as I am contemplating breaking the lock for the second time in six weeks, and Nikita is looking at me with empty eyes. 

She's been crying, her face wet with tears she hasn't bothered to wipe away, her eyes are red and swollen. I wasn't too late. An immense wave of relief washes over me as I push the door open and step inside, holding her gaze with mine. "We have to talk." 

Nikita doesn't move but puts her hands on her hips, her voice flat and incurious. "About what?" Shutting the door behind me, I quickly scan her apartment, unconsciously searching for some hint as to her state of mind. Why did she take so long to answer? 

Frustrated by her lack of response, I try to shock her out of her complacency. "I can't protect you any more." It hurts to admit it, but it's true. She's just handed Madeline and Operations the perfect ammunition they need to rid themselves of their most difficult operative. 

Nikita stares at me, totally unmoved by my statement. If anything, my warning only seems to puzzle her, a frown creasing her forehead as she stares at me. "I never asked for your protection." 

"Without it, you'd be dead now." _More times that you will ever know._

Nikita looks at me hollowly. "You seem to care more about that then I do." At this point, I would have to agree with her. We exchange a long look in silence before she turns on her heel and walks back into her apartment. 

I follow Nikita slowly into her living room, desperately searching for the right words. What I say to her now could mean the difference between life and cancellation. Fear of losing her floods my mind, washing away every carefully pre-constructed argument. Finally, I abandon my prepared speech and ask her the question to which I already know the answer. 

"Why can't you just do the job?" 

She stops and looks at me over her shoulder, weariness etched on her pale face. "I tried to tell you." Her eyes, burning into mine, fill with a remembered pain. I look into her anguished eyes and know exactly what has caused her haunted expression. She's right. She did try to tell me. 

_I'm not who you think I am. I can't pull the trigger._

The moment I believe that, Nikita, you're cancelled. 

I'd looked into her eyes when she finally did pull the trigger, killing one of Van Vactor's bodyguards to save my life...and I knew. She was innocent. The realization sickened me to the core. It still does. I know what she is going to say, but I need her to open up to me. "Tell me what?" 

Nikita turns her back on me, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'm not who you think I am." Her head bows slightly, and I move closer to her, longing to take her in my arms and comfort her, knowing that I shouldn't. "I never killed anyone before I came into Section. I know you don't want to believe it, but you know it's true." With this sad declaration, she finally turns around and meets my eyes. Another step brings me close enough to touch her. I clench my fists at my sides in an effort to keep from reaching for her and search her face, desperately looking for a sign that her spirit is still alive 

"It's not important what you did." I can hardly control the urge to take her by the arms and shake her until she understands the very real danger that she is in. "It's what you do _now_." 

Nikita stands with her hands on her hips and stares at me, her voice rough with emotion. "I can't change who I am." 

Hopelessness fills my heart, and I feel totally defeated. "Then I can't help you." 

Nikita's face tightens in an effort not to cry, but her eyes still fill with tears. Tilting her head back slightly, she looks at me with quiet despair. "Why did you ever?"

My heart seems to stagger in reaction to her blunt question, and I think of all the words I can never say. Why? I let my eyes roam over her face, a face as familiar to me as my own. The frustrated disillusionment that has my soul in its grip is no match for a truth that I no longer wish to deny. Because I need you too much to let you throw your life away. 

I cannot tell her the truth, and yet I can't find any other words to explain my actions. Silently, I stare at her, realizing sadly that all the light has faded from her beautiful face. She has given up. A sense of panic floods my heart. Please...I need you to live. Looking into her tear-swollen eyes, I can no longer fight the urgent need to touch her. 

Reaching out a suddenly unsteady hand, I caress her face lightly, her skin soft and warm beneath my fingertips. Nikita watches me intently with puzzled eyes, and I hear her breath catch in her throat as I touch her hair, something I have ached to do for so long. The luminescent strands almost feel like silk as I rub them softly between my fingers, the delicate golden threads clutching at my fingertips. 

Unable to stop myself, I let my hand drop to her shoulder before gathering her in my arms and pulling her into a gentle embrace. She doesn't resist, but it is a few seconds before her arms hesitantly creep around my waist. 

Her hair is soft and fragrant against my face, the warmth of her body pressed against mine instantly rousing my longing for her. Every single thought in my mind recedes until there is only one left, the one desire that has tormented my heart and soul ever since I met this woman. 

If only. I rub my hands lightly across her back, feeling the muscles tense then relax beneath my touch, rejoicing in the feel of her body against mine. 

Rene.  
My family.  
Section.  
Simone.  
Elena.  
Adam. 

 

A daily litany of sorrow that has crippled my heart and silenced my tongue, an impenetrable wall of secrets that I let no one break through - until now. Without realizing, Nikita has slowly been exhuming my soul, and I wish to God that she did not have to endure this life...that we did not have to endure it. 

I take a deep breath, the clean scent of her hair filling my senses. "I wish -," I hesitate, the words feeling thick and clumsy in my throat. "- things could be different." 

Nikita hesitates for only a split-second before answering me sadly in a tear roughened voice. "Me too." I feel her arms tighten around my waist, and she finally lets her body relax against mine. I know I should pull away, but I can't let her go. 

My arms tighten as she buries her face against my shoulder, her body trembling with emotion. Nikita's sobs are shaking my own body, and my heart aches for both of us. For the first time, all barriers and walls between us have disappeared and there is no longer anywhere to hide from what is between us.


	3. page 3 - Quality of Mercy

| 

I bury my face in the crook of Michael's neck, softly inhaling the warm scent of his skin. His hands are gentle on my hair and back, and I can hardly believe that this is Michael, the same Michael that I have known for three years. 

His chest rises and falls in tune with mine, and I can feel the steady beat of his heart. I stay quite still, afraid of shattering the sense of peace that fell on me the moment Michael took me in his arms. Three nights ago, he held me and I could barely control the rush of desire. But this is different. This is not a mission. _This_ is dangerously real and the sheer weight of my feelings on top of everything else that happened this day is suddenly terrifying. Easing my arms from around his waist, I pull away. He lets me, but his eyes caress my face with an intensity that dries my mouth. 

Giving my arm a final reassuring squeeze, Michael drops his hands, takes a step back and walks slowly to the kitchen. I watch his every movement as he pulls a bottle of water from the refrigerator and fills a glass before coming back to me. 

"Drink this." 

I have no interest in swilling water, but the unexpected tenderness of the gesture almost undoes me. I take the glass from him a shaky smile, and slowly sip the cold water as Michael moves almost aimlessly around my apartment. There is silence between us, but it is not an awkward one. 

Walking into the kitchen to put the empty glass in the sink, my stomach flips over when Michael's voice, tight with quiet fury, breaks the silence. 

"What is this?" 

_Shit!_

Heart pounding, I turn to see exactly what I was dreading. Michael is standing in front of my laptop. Shame snatches my voice, and I can only look at him helplessly. 

"Nikita." Michael stares at me, his eyes dark with anger. When I say nothing, he stalks around the table, furious. I take an involuntary step back, frightened by his intensity. 

Standing in front of me, he takes a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest as though he dearly wants to strangle me but is trying to restrain himself. All the fire has gone out of his voice. "Why?" 

I close my eyes, and feel tears prickle behind my lids. "Because I can't do this any more, Michael." I open my eyes to find him looking at me with a sadness that almost makes me weep. "I just _can't..._ " 

He raises a gentle hand to my hair once again, a strange replay of his earlier actions. 

"You can...you will." His light eyes dance across my face, touching my lips in a visual caress that sends a hot shiver across my skin. 

"Why?" The word comes out on a sob, a desperate plea for understanding. Hypocritical as it may seem, I desperately want him to give me a reason to keep going...to keep living. 

Our eyes meet. Unnerved by the fierce longing I see in his face, I look away, words falling from my mouth in a nervous rush. 

"Nothing I do seems to make a difference." Michael watches me, waiting. "I've taken so many lives that I've lost count. Do you have any idea of how that makes me feel?!" 

"Yes." 

His quiet reply sends a flush of embarrassment up my throat, warming my face. _Of course he does...he's been living in this hell much longer than I have. Shit, I don't even know what he did to end up in Section._ For all I know, he was like me...an innocent. 

Michael drops his hand and steps back, looking around the apartment as though searching for the right words. "The difference that we make is not always obvious." He turns back to me, his eyes watching for my reaction. 

"It's just that..." My voice trails off miserably as I think of what happened earlier. Guilt rips through me and I can no longer keep my distraught thoughts to myself. 

"I left him there, Michael!" I close my eyes tightly, but all I can see is Stanley, his happiness to see me...his excitement that I was there to save him...and his shock when I turned my back. 

_Nikita...where are you going?_

_Oh god._ My body starts to shake, and through a haze of shame I feel Michael's touch on my shoulders, his voice breaking through my fevered thoughts. 

"Nikita." I shake my head at him, mute with shame, and pull away. Walking swiftly to the French doors, I rip them open. The cold of the night brushes against my flushed skin as my lungs fill with the chilled air. 

"What about all the innocents that you _have_ saved?" Michael has come to stand behind me, his words quietly insistent. 

"What about them?" I wipe my hands across my wet face, too exhausted to care about appearances. 

"There are thousands of people who are alive today because of the things that you have done." 

I turn to look at him warily. I want to believe him, but thinking of Shays has slammed the despair back into my soul. "There will be other people to do my job, Michael." My insinuation hits home and he narrows his eyes before taking two quick steps to bring him to my side. 

He's angry. His face tight with controlled passion, he leans forward and speaks quite deliberately into my ear. 

"I would have never thought you a coward, Nikita." 

~*~*~*~ 

Nikita's eyes flash blue fire as she recoils from me. She opens her mouth to speak but no words come out - she's literally speechless with rage. 

The hurt in her eyes is almost too painful to bear, but this is the only way. Anger will make her stronger and I will say anything, do anything to bring her back from the dark place she has retreated to. 

I look at her calmly. "It takes strength and courage to do what we do...to be able put aside our selfish fears and concerns and act for the good of others." Nikita clenches her fists her sides and glares at me with a loathing that sends a painful rush of regret through me, but I force myself to carry on. "Operations was right about you." She narrows her eyes at me, her breathing uneven and agitated. "You lack _discipline._ " 

_Direct hit._ Her eyes snapping with anger, Nikita lets out a shaky breath and looks at me in outrage. "So I'm a coward because I refused to kill an innocent in cold blood?!" 

"No. This has nothing to do with Shays. This is about you, and what you were planning to do here tonight." 

Her pale face suffuses with color as her eyes fill with tears, and it's all I can do not to take her in my arms again. "What I decide to do with my life is _none_ of your business, Michael!" 

"Is that really what you think?" She presses her lips together in a tight line and stays silent, but when she looks at me I see the truth glowing at the back of her eyes. "What about the other people who care about you?" 

She turns to stare out the French doors, unable to meet my eyes. 

"What about Birkoff?" Nikita blanches, biting her lip hard as she hangs her head. Hardening my heart, I aim for her Archilles heel. 

"What about Walter?" 

Her head snaps back and she looks at me with angry despair as I goad her again. "They need you more than you realise. Have you even thought what this would do to them?" 

I try to speak calmly, but every word feels torn from deep inside. The Vachek mission stretches out endlessly in my mind's eye. If it does end within five years as profiled, the after effects will be just as damaging. Nikita _will_ find out about Adam and Elena eventually. Nothing can stay hidden forever, not even in Section. 

How can I burden Nikita with the truth of my feelings for her, knowing full well that nothing can ever come of them? And yet... _I_ need her more than she realises...and she truly has no idea what losing her would do to _me._ Hiding behind Walter and Birkoff and using her feelings for them instead of being honest with her is a cheap shot, but I no longer care about what is honorable...not tonight. 

Nikita raises her hands in a helpless gesture, unable to hold back her tears. Sadness thickens my throat as I struggle to keep my own emotions under control. I put a gentle hand on her shoulder and she looks up at me, misery tightening her face. 

"You are not a coward." She shuts her eyes tightly, and my heart clenches with sadness. "You can do this. No matter what you think now, you _are_ strong enough." I take her cold hand in mine. Nikita opens her eyes in recognition as I repeat the words I spoke to her only a few weeks ago, a promise that I realize I will do anything to keep. "I'll help you get through this." 

"And Sh-Shays?" She stumbles slightly over his name, guilt dancing across her pale face. 

"A convergence plan has been profiled. It's not a hopeless situation." I wince inwardly at the half-truth, but it's what she needs to hear. 

We look at each other in silence for a long moment before she turns and stares out at the city lights. 

"Can we get him out, Michael?" 

I hesitate for a split-second. Her deceptive air of composure doesn't hide her inner turmoil, and the last thing I want to do is shatter whatever hope she has left. But I won't lie to her either. 

"I don't know." 

Nikita turns around, and my heart aches at the painful resignation in her eyes. After a few seconds of silence, she nods and walks back into the living area, wiping her eyes. I watch her, fighting the urge to follow. The sense of desperation has left me, but the memory of holding her to my heart lingers stubbornly, leaving behind a very different urgency. 

My pulse quickens as she turns to meet my eyes, a dangerous combination of adrenaline and desire subtly changing the almost comfortable silence between us into something quite different. The exhilarating rush of relief has pushed aside all thoughts of the obligations that exist outside that door, sending my emotions into a confused spiral of need and fear. Intoxicatingly aware of the knife-edge of temptation that we are both walking, I wait silently as Nikita moves slowly toward me, all too conscious of the danger of forgetting one's obligations. 

Suddenly, Nikita gives me a hesitant smile that seems to dissipate the heady atmosphere. "You said that Walter and Birkoff would miss me...that they need me." I swallow hard, instinctively knowing what is coming. 

"How about you, Michael?" Rather than a statement intended to provoke a reaction, Nikita's question seems borne of genuine curiosity. "Would _you_ miss me?" 

My breath catches in my throat as I bite back the words that I suddenly long to tell her. _I can't._ Not now...not yet. _Perhaps never._ I look into her clear blue eyes and struggle to accept the painful reality that is my life. 

Before I can speak, the quiet chirping of my cell phone pierces the sudden tension between us, and Nikita looks away, frustration flickering across her face. She turns her back on me, trailing her fingertips along the top of the kitchen bench. 

I take a deep breath. "Yes." 

The cell phone continues to shrill softly, and Nikita turns to look at me, taken aback by the sound. My pulse pounding in my head, I meet her startled gaze calmly. We hold a long look, my unexpected answer stretching the silence between us. After a few seconds, Nikita nods at me, a small smile of satisfaction curving her mouth. I pull the phone out of my pocket and finally answer it. 

"Yes?" 

"Jacques." Madeline's voice is its usual serene lilt, and yet the fact that she is calling me in personally sends a flicker of apprehension down my spine. 

"Yes." 

"Come in." With that, she terminates the connection. I flip the phone closed and look at Nikita. 

"I have to go in." 

Nikita nods casually and follows me to the door as I start to leave. As I reach for the handle, she reaches for my arm. I turn and study her face anxiously for a few seconds, suddenly afraid of what I may find in her eyes. There is no sign of her previous distress, but the relief that rushes through me quickly turns into cautious anticipation as Nikita's hand tightens and she leans towards me. I hold my breath as she gently brushes her lips against my cheek. 

It's a chaste kiss that is almost over before it begins, but my heart is hammering violently in my chest as she pulls away, and I have no idea how I stop myself from reaching for her. 

"Thank you." 

I look at her. Her eyes are red, but the tears have stopped. "For what?" 

"For being brutally honest." 

Guilt twitches in my gut. I don't deserve her thanks. I have been far from honest with her...about everything. I wrench the door open, suddenly grateful for Madeline's summons. The brief touch of Nikita's lips has only served to ignite my senses. I step into the hallway, the blood rolling hotly through my veins as I turn back to meet her eyes. 

"Get some rest." 

~*~*~*~ 

Michael closes the door softly behind him. I stand and gaze around the apartment for a few moments, a bone deep weariness taking hold of my body and mind. Wandering slowly onto the balcony, I shake my head, trying to make sense of my confused feelings. 

_Am I a coward?_ I lean my elbows on the railing and stare unseeing at the city lights below. _I didn't think I was, but now..._ I rub my swollen eyes. _I'm not so sure._

Despite Michael's assertion, I'm still don't know I have the strength to do this. I close my eyes tightly, trying to control the tears that sting the back of my eyes. I told Birkoff once that dying was all too easy, that living was the scary part. _Was that really only a few months ago?_ I was cruel in my desperation to save him from himself. I hug my crossed arms to my chest and think once more of Michael's cool ruthlessness, his seemingly uncaring assessment of my weaknesses. 

_I would have never thought you a coward, Nikita._

Michael dealt with my despair tonight using the same tactics that I used on Birkoff. I smile wryly, shaking my head in grudging admiration. He knew exactly what buttons to press to make me furious, to make me want to prove him wrong. _Damn him. How does he always manage to manipulate me with such ease?_

The utter despair that had swallowed my soul has slowly started to recede, but the ache of guilt still sits like a stone in the pit of my stomach. To leave Shays in the hands of the Freedom League was a terrible mistake that I will never be able to undo. And yet I know in my heart...if I was able to relive today over and over again, I would never be able to fire that bullet. If that makes me a coward, so be it. Cancellation is just another word for murder, and I pray to God that I will never be able to calmly take the life of an innocent. 

Michael flung another truth in my face. _Killing myself won't bring Shays back._ All it would bring is pain and sorrow to people that I care about. Michael won the battle the moment he forced me to think of the affect that my death would have on those I love. 

The thought of Michael sends my thoughts down another, more complicated path. I replay our conversation in my mind, dissecting it word by word. My pulse leaps in my throat at the memory of Michael holding me in his arms. _What happened between us tonight? Did he come here as my friend, or..._

My skin flushes with the warmth of embarrassment. I kissed him. I actually kissed him. _God, what was I thinking?_ I saw the heat suddenly flare behind his eyes, and felt an almost overwhelming urge to run. I frown to myself, desperately trying to work out the tangled mass of feeling inside me. _Did I only dare kiss him because I knew he couldn't stay?_

The cool breeze ruffles my hair, and my pulse flutters in my throat as I brush the strands out of my eyes, the action recalling Michael's tender touch. He'd looked at me as though he was seeing me for the first time, so silent as he reached out a gentle hand...as though no words could explain what he was thinking. 

_Would you miss me?_ I was so nervous, I was sure that he would hear the frantic thudding of my heart. To be totally honest, I think I only found the courage to ask the question because I didn't expect an answer. 

I touch my forehead with a shaking hand and the sparkling lights blur and begin to dance in front of my eyes. Michael may have used emotion to control me tonight, but as I stand here...alive...there is no anger in my heart towards him. 

I want to _live._

More importantly... _I want to live long enough to prove Madeline wrong._ I close my eyes and stretch my arms above my head, feeling the aching muscles twinge in protest. I want to live, but right now...all I want to do is sleep. All the adrenaline has seeped away, leaving me feeling exhausted but surprisingly calm. As though on automatic pilot, I go through the motions of locking the French doors and turning off the lights. As tempting as my bed looks, I know I won't be able to sleep until I have washed this day away. Yawning, I strip off the dusty field clothes and fling them into the laundry hamper, barely resisting the urge to throw them into the garbage bin instead. By the time I have finished showering, I'm so tired that it takes all the energy I have to clean my teeth and comb out my wet hair. 

It's after midnight by the time I crawl into bed, but for once, I don't lie awake staring at the ceiling, and if I dream, I don't remember. 

~*~*~*~ 

Section is relatively quiet, the silence broken only by the low murmur of voices and the ever-present hum of technology. 

Madeline is not in her office. I walk quickly through Section, assuming that I will find her with Operations, my head spinning with thoughts of Nikita and how close I came to losing her tonight. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I take a deep breath and clamp down on my errant thoughts. A private briefing with Madeline and Operations is never easy, and I can't afford to appear distracted. 

They are deep in conversation when I enter the room. When they catch sight of me, the conversation dies mid-sentence as they turn to face me. 

"You wanted to see me?" 

Operations clears his throat and begins to speak, his voice harshly urgent. "Comm. has run an analysis. There is _no way_ to surgically remedy the situation." I look at him with barely concealed surprise. _Why was I ordered to come up with a viable profile if Comm. was running the analysis?_

Madeline is no less insistent. "Shays is _not_ equipped to hold out. Tyler will have the formula, if he doesn't already." 

I have no chance to respond before Operations begins again. "We've worked up a containment plan." My mind races furiously, alarm growing with every word that he utters. 

"The team has already been selected. They will consist of six members of the abeyance pool. Only the mobile control team will be returning." His eyes bore into mine, every single word pounding into my skull. "You, Walter...and Birkoff." 

He pauses, and the strange sense of conspiratorial tension in the room increases. I can feel the weight of Madeline's stare as Operations continues to speak. "The other six will be sacrificed." 

_Sacrificed._ The word continues to echo dully in my mind, Madeline's soft voice filtering through a haze of suspicion. 

"Needless to say, you are the only operative who has the intelligence on this mission." 

I turn slightly to meet her eyes but her expression is unreadable. I think of Nikita, of the disaster that is Shays and Tyler. _Sacrificed._ Not trusting myself to speak without betraying my unspoken fear, I nod to Madeline and slowly leave the room feeling as though I've been punched in the stomach. 

Operations' final words batter my mind. _The other six will be sacrificed._ The use of such a high number of abeyance operatives is unusual, but that isn't what is now making me so uneasy. 

While Operations was speaking, I observed Madeline out of the corner of my eye. She was watching me intently, searching too avidly for any reaction to his words. I reach my office, still replaying the briefing in my mind. They had carefully avoided looking at each other during our short conversation, a conversation that on reflection seems to have been carefully rehearsed. 

A search of Nikita's personnel file reveals little. Her status remains unchanged, the only new information being that she is down tomorrow. There is no mention of the aborted Shays mission, and this alone is enough to set my nerves on edge. 

I stare at the screen in front of me, unable to shake the lingering impression of anxiety that both Madeline and Operations were projecting. It almost seemed as though they were worried about my reaction to the directive. _Why would I object to the use of abeyance operatives unless_...my mind falters, unwilling to face the implications of Madeline and Operations' behaviour. 

_Nikita._

No. I frown. _It's impossible._ There are certain procedures that are observed when an operative is placed in Abeyance. One of these is the formal notification given to that operative's mentor, if the operative is level two or lower. I attempt to reassure myself even as my own intuition threats to shatter the fragile peace of mind to which I am stubbornly clinging. Every instinct I have regarding the ways of Section is screaming for attention. 

I close down the file and leave my office, noting with grim satisfaction that Birkoff is quite alone in Comm. Scanning the area for any sign of Madeline or Operations, I approach Birkoff silently, making him jump at the sound of my voice. 

"I want an updated summary of the abeyance database." 

Birkoff's eyes widen, and he looks around cautiously before he whispers his reply. "Michael, you know I can't do that...that's level eight clearance. I can't do it without clearance from Opera..." 

"Now, Birkoff." 

He looks at me unhappily. "You know that it will be logged as being viewed from my station." 

"Reroute it to my office." 

Birkoff is looking over his shoulder in a panic. "But it will still be logged as having been accessed." 

"See to it that it isn't." 

"But if I get caught..." Birkoff turns back to face me, his protest dying on his lips as his eyes meet mine. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair before turning his attention back to his computer, letting out a defeated sigh as he begins to type. 

"You'll have it in two minutes." 

Leaving a disgruntled Birkoff in my wake, I walk swiftly through Section back to my office. 

The abeyance list is waiting for me, and I am quite confident that there will be no record of it having been accessed. Birkoff has tagged six files for my attention...the next six operatives to be deployed on abeyance missions. I scroll quickly through the files, scanning the data, my stomach churning as I frantically search for a name that I do not want to find. 

_David Rowe...Grace Emerton...Robyna Kilmartin...Daniel Baron...Russell Gibbs...Nathan Byrnes._

Her name isn't there. She's not in abeyance. The relief is almost overwhelming, and yet... 

Something's not right. 

~*~*~*~ 

I switch off the engine, wondering not for the first time just what I am doing here. The surveillance of Nikita's apartment should have been enough to reassure me, but it wasn't. When I checked the live feed twenty minutes ago, she was sleeping. I watched her toss and turn for a few moments, realizing without surprise that I would not be able to relax until I saw for myself that she had pulled back from the edge. 

It's two o'clock in the morning, and the apartment block is quiet and still. I pause outside Nikita's door for a few moments, the key pressed cold and hard into my palm. I would prefer not to enter the apartment uninvited while Nikita sleeps, but any lingering doubts have been swept aside by a sense of danger that I can't ignore. 

_The other six will be sacrificed._

The laptop has been closed. I boot it up quickly and search her files, my anxiety easing when I find no sign of the note that Nikita had written. With a heavy sigh of relief, I close the computer down and walk silently through the kitchen. The cupboard door squeaks quietly as I open it. I freeze for a few seconds, but there is no sound from the bedroom, and I cautiously reach into the cupboard. Her gun is pushed to the back of the cupboard with the safety on, and the clip is nowhere to be seen. 

_Thank God._

My gaze wanders instinctively toward Nikita's bedroom, and I hold my breath as I listen to the sound of her soft breathing. Knowing that she is sleeping not more than five feet away is exquisite torture, and I can feel my resolve weakening with every second that I stay here. I close my eyes, remembering the desire that had traveled through my body like an electrical shock when Nikita brushed her lips against my skin. 

It was a kiss that was given freely rather than taken. It was not a caress meant to maintain profile or a response that I seduced out of her. The gesture came from her heart, and the simplicity of the feelings behind it set off a fierce chain reaction of longing that I am still struggling to comprehend. 

I stand here, remembering Nikita's grief and pain, and I am suddenly ashamed of the baseness of my thoughts. I came here earlier tonight as her mentor and her friend, not her lover...and yet I will not deny that I want her. I crave her on every level imaginable...her body, her mind, her heart...and it's slowly tearing me apart from the inside. _I wish things could be different._ I have wished for so many things over the last three years that I no longer allowed myself to think of them. I wish I were free to walk up these stairs, wake Nikita and tell her that I can't imagine my life without her in it. I love my son dearly and yet, at this moment in time, I wish that Salla Vachek had never sired a daughter. 

My thoughts a fusion of need and resentment, I take only one step toward the staircase before I turn and quietly open the door, closing and locking it from the outside...quickly, before I can change my mind. 

~*~*~*~ 

"Josephine." I sit up groggily, pushing the hair out of my eyes sleepily as the unfamiliar voice rumbles in my ear. 

"Yep?" I cover the receiver and cough dryly. 

"Come in." 

_There go my plans for an afternoon nap._ Irritated, I hang up the phone and throw back the covers, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Head in my hands, I glare at the now silent telephone as though it is to blame. _I am supposed to be on a day's downtime, you know._

At least I managed to grab a few hours for myself. I'd woken up this morning feeling almost light-hearted, buoyed by a sense of peace that I haven't felt for a very long time. 

I went for a long run, altering the usual route so I could pass by my favourite patisserie. Chocolate croissant firmly in hand, I went back to my park bench. I'm still not sure why...I just had this feeling that I needed to reclaim everything that had once given my pleasure...to take back what had been tainted by fear and sorrow. 

The same young couple were there again, pushing their baby in a stroller, the mother laughing as the ducks squabbled at the edge of the pond over the scraps of bread that she was throwing. I ate my breakfast and watched them with dry eyes and a heart that only hurt a little, realizing at last that while I would never stop thinking about what can't be, I could still dream about that which might be...one day. 

I came back to the apartment and indulged in a cleaning frenzy that ranged from stripping the sheets from my bed to be washed to sorting through my old clothes. I felt rejuvenated, as though I was ripping away the darkness that had smothered me for months, as though I was finally becoming myself again. The last thing I remember was stretching out on my bed for an afternoon nap, exhausted by my sudden burst of energy. 

Standing now in the kitchen in my bathrobe, I watch the steam rise from the spout of the nearly boiled kettle and wonder why it wasn't Michael who called me in. _If I was a paranoid girl,_ I think dryly, _I might think that he was avoiding me after last night._ I wouldn't really blame him...I'm feeling a bit weird about it myself this morning. But whatever happens now, I'm glad that I saw another side of him last night. I actually felt comfortable with him, and it was an amazing feeling. _And as for kissing him_...I square my shoulders, feeling the tell tale blush of colour rising in my face... _he can make of that whatever he wants._

I get dressed quickly, cheered by the thought that Shays could be the reason that I've been called in. Michael was more honest than I wanted him to be when I asked him about Stanley last night. The familiar twinge of guilt flutters in my chest, but I take a deep breath and push it aside. _If we can save him, I'll be the happiest girl in Section. If we can't..._ I close my eyes, not wanting to finish the thought, but knowing that I _have_ to face the reality of the situation. _If we can't, then I'll have to deal with it as best I can._

I grab my jacket and head for the door, taking one last look around my freshly cleaned apartment with satisfaction, unable to stop myself rearranging the living room furniture in my mind. I need a change. Tomorrow...I'll do it tomorrow. 

It may not be the life I want, but at the moment...it's the only one I've got. 

~*~*~*~ 

The briefing room is filled with operatives that I have never worked with. I know Grace Emerton slightly, but we've never been assigned to the same team before. The other four are complete strangers, and I can't deny that it makes me slightly uneasy. I haven't laid eyes on Michael since I arrived half an hour ago, and when the briefing starts without him, my curiosity grows. _Where is he?_

Operations seems more annoyed with me than usual today, but even he can't ruffle my new-found composure. "The Freedom League may have already broken Shays." I look at him coolly as he frowns pointedly in my direction, determined not to give him the satisfaction of rattling me. 

"It goes without saying that Shays' formula cannot be allowed to be used, by the Freedom League or anyone else. If Tyler has already extracted the formula from Shays, he will waste no time in putting it to good use." He pauses and looks at each of us in turn. "The Freedom League base is to be completely incinerated. Leave _nothing_ and _no-one_ standing. Is that understood?" 

"What about Shays?" 

I can almost hear the collective sigh from the other operatives as all eyes shift towards me. Operations turns more slowly, his pale eyes locking onto mine, but he says nothing. I stare at him, silently demanding an answer to my question. He sighs dramatically and looks at me with barely concealed irritation. "Michael will make that call on site." Strangely enough, his answer reassures me. I had begun to wonder if Michael was even leading this mission. 

He turns his back and addresses the rest of the team. "The details are on your panels, and Walter will brief you en route regarding the containment procedure. Remember this...there is no room for error. I want that base _gone_." 

His gaze flicks back to me, his face darkening with indecipherable emotion. "Michael is waiting for you all in van access. Good luck." 

~*~*~*~ 

I look at Madeline and suppress a sigh of frustration. We have gone over this profile so many times that I could run the sequence in my sleep. When I protested that I needed to attend the briefing, she casually decreed that Operations would handle it and that I was needed in Systems. Her words were more than enough to re-ignite my suspicions, despite the fact that I had already checked and rechecked both Nikita's file and the Abeyance database. 

_She's not in Abeyance. She's not profiled on this mission. She's on a day's down time._

No matter how many times I've checked the files, it hasn't taken away the bitter tang of dread that is burning the back of my throat. I've been in Section long enough to know that _nothing_ is as it seems. 

Finally, Madeline checks her watch. "You should get to van access. The team will be meeting you there in two minutes." 

I nod to her impatiently, the mantra of denial still running through my mind. _She's not in abeyance. She's not profiled on this mission. She's on a day's down time._

Madeline starts to walk alongside me as though she means to provide an escort. _Why?_ Her part in this mission should have ended with the abeyance directive. The feeling that I am deliberately being kept occupied increases, and a rush of panic flutters through me. 

To my relief, Madeline stops just before the access corridor, her dark eyes sweeping over my face. "I hope it all goes well." 

Her uncharacteristic sentiment ringing hollowly in my ears, I nod and walk away, my heartbeat picking up speed with every step I take. The hallway is empty, but the sound of boots thudding heavily on the hard floor warns of the team's imminent arrival. 

Feeling strangely short of breath, I lean back against the open access door and watch the abeyance operatives come into view. 

_Rowe._

Emerton. 

Kilmartin. 

Baron. 

Gibbs. 

The sweat trickles coldly down my back as I wait for Byrnes to arrive, the hard knot of fear in the middle of my chest tightening with every passing second. A flash of blonde hair stops my heart and freezes my blood as my nightmare becomes reality. 

_Nikita._

I can't breathe. 

Fear grips my lungs in a slowly twisting vice, the world tilting crazily on its axis as Nikita turns the corner with her head bowed, long blonde hair hiding her face as she adjusts her thigh holster. 

_The other six will be sacrificed._

My thoughts annihilated by shock, I can only watch in mute horror as Nikita walks slowly toward me. 

_No._

"Michael?" She stops in front of me with concern etched on her face, her eyes searching mine. "What's wrong?" 

Her softly spoken question punches me in the heart as the recent memory of her swaying toward me in a black dress down this very corridor rips through my mind. I dully realize that we have had this conversation before, and the cruel difference that these three days have made to our lives cleaves my soul in two. 

I struggle to answer her through the lump of anguish thickening my throat. "Nothing." 

_Everything._

Nikita smiles, her face brightening as she reaches out and gives me a reassuring pat on the arm. The warmth of her hand seeps through the material to warm my cold flesh, but the caress is over too soon, and she walks past me into the loading bay. 

The back of my neck pricks with the sensation of being watched, and pure rage sweeps through me. Fists clench unconsciously, I turn my head and meet Madeline's callous gaze without surprise. 

The crushing weight of seven years of serving Section without question slams into me as I stare at Madeline, her stance of silent intimidation rousing a wave of hatred so intense that I have to look away. 

The blood roaring through my veins, I walk slowly through to the waiting transport with one single thought beating a furious tattoo into my consciousness. 

_I won't let them do this._

Nikita catches my eye and smiles as I enter the van, sparking a furious resentment that rips through me. _How dare they?_

Despite all that Section has put her through, after everything that I have done to her, Nikita has survived. She has pulled herself back from the brink of despair by sheer willpower, and seems to have made peace with her demons. In spite of her many clashes with Madeline and Operations, her loyalty to the Section remains intact. She is a _good_ operative. 

I watch her grinning at Birkoff over a private joke and my anger intensifies. Nikita's skills in the field are outstanding, her compassion for humanity an intrinsic part of her psyche...but instead of using her to their advantage, Section plans to snuff out her life without a second thought. 

_No._

I close my eyes as images flash through my mind. For seven years, I have done everything that has demanded of me without question. I have killed and tortured for the Section. I have lost Simone, and at this moment I cannot even bear to think about what is ahead for Adam and Elena. 

Desperation floods my mind, washing away all thoughts of obligation and loyalty. I glance up at Nikita as she sits talking to Birkoff. Startled anew by the fierce swell of emotion that engulfs me, I look away and reach unobtrusively for the laptop. 

_No._ I will not let this happen. 

I am not going to lose her. 

~*~*~*~ 

I stand and move away from the team, unable to bear being so close to Nikita, knowing what is about to play out. 

It's done. The plan that had been vaguely skirting my subconscious ever since that intense briefing with Operations and Madeline has been put into motion. A message on delayed send will be relayed to the small field PDA that I will give to Nikita before she enters the Freedom League base. I have performed a back trace on the message so that there is no possibility of it being logged. Section will never see it. 

I will never see it again either, but there is no need. Every word is already scorched onto my memory, each one like a knife sliding between my ribs. 

I have no concern about any reprisals that may come my way. With the smallest of mercies, once this is over, Nikita will be alive. She will be free. For now, that is all that matters. 

~*~*~*~ 

I fidget with the zipper of my jacket and eye Michael surreptitiously, trying to work out exactly what is going on with him. He's standing alone on the other side of the van with his arms crossed, not looking at anyone. 

_And just what was wrong with him in van access?_ He looked as though he'd seen a ghost, the blood draining from his face in a heartbeat. I don't think I've never seen anyone turn that pale that fast. It was as though I was the last person he expected to see. I don't know why. I've been involved with this Shays thing from the beginning...he shouldn't be surprised that I'm here. _And how could he not have known that I was going to be on his team?_ That doesn't make any sense at all...It must be something else that's bothering him. 

I sit back in my chair, taking the opportunity to study Michael while he's not looking. As usual, he's spent nearly the entire journey totally engrossed in his laptop, probably running through the sequence for the hundredth time. He said that nothing was wrong. _Yeah, right._ If nothing is wrong, why is he acting as though the world is about to end? Everyone else seems oblivious to his mood, but I know Michael. And I know that he is stressed out and trying to conceal it. I can almost feel him growing tenser with every new mile we put between Section and ourselves. 

Perhaps it's because of Stanley. If he's already decided that Shays is acceptable collateral, then he obviously won't be looking forward to telling me. If we weren't surrounded by this crowd, I could ease his mind maybe, make it easier for him by telling him that it's okay...that I know what has to be done. 

But we're not alone, and there's nothing I want to say to Michael in front of these people. I finally tear my eyes away from him to watch Walter doing mysterious things to the charges that we'll be setting. Feeling my eyes on him, he looks up and gives me a leer and a smile, and I choke back a chuckle. _Any time, anywhere...he never disappoints me._ How could I have ever thought of leaving him behind? 

Feeling slightly crowded, I frown at Rowe as his arm brushes against mine. He's sitting next to me, fiddling inexpertly with his gun. He sighs impatiently and looks at me. "I can't get this plugged in." 

I look over at the mess he's made of the sighting connection. "It doesn't go there." I pick up the wire and connect it to the right port. 

"Oh, right...right. They changed that." Rowe stares at the weapon as though he's never seen a gun before. "I haven't been out in over three months." 

_Three months?_ I've never heard of a level one being on downtime for that long. "Why not?" 

"I don't know. I think it's because I screwed up in Zaire." 

"Really." I frown and try to catch Michael's eye, trying to silently convey my apprehension. _What is Rowe doing on this mission if he hasn't been active for three months?_ Michael's eyes meet mine only fleetingly before he begins to speak in a curiously flat voice. 

"Walter's prepared the C-4. You'll each be given a charge. Birkoff will give you specific coordinates and access pathways to get there." 

Walter looks up from his screen. "Once you plant the explosive, signal me." He holds up two fingers. "Two pulses." 

Grace frowns. "That's a lot of juice." She narrows her eyes at Walter. "How're we getting out of there?" 

_Interesting question._ Michael cuts in smoothly before Walter has a chance to reply. "You'll be given instructions. Keep your channels open." The van glides to a smooth stop, and I feel the adrenalin start. It's a rush I could well live without, but at this point, I'm happy with anything that will help me get through the night. 

Birkoff's fingers clatter over his keyboard. "We're at alpha point." 

Feeling as though I'm being watched, I look up to find Michael staring at me with an odd intensity. He looks away quickly and I realize sadly that his thoughts are once again distant and out of my reach. I grab my field kit and stash it inside my jacket as I watch Michael motion toward the door with a jerk of his head. 

"Let's go." 

~*~*~*~ 

It seems strange to be back at the warehouse, and anxiety flickers to life in my belly. It looks very different...the full moon only seems to have made the building more impenetrable, more foreboding. I look at the operatives around me and realize with a pang of guilt that if I had done things differently the first time, we wouldn't have to be here now. But I can't undo what I did...all I can do now is pray that we're in time to salvage the situation without anyone else having to die. 

I hang back as the rest of the team make their way toward the wire fence, knowing that this is my last chance to speak to Michael alone. He's leaning against the van, staring intently at the Freedom League base, almost oblivious to everything around him. 

"Michael, what about Shays?" 

A fierce energy flares behind his eyes as he turns to me. "He's collateral." 

It's the answer I was expecting, but it still hurts. I know that it has to be like this, but I can't help trying one more time. 

"And if I can get him out?" 

Michael hardly waits for me to finish speaking before he answers, his voice rough. "Don't try. It'll compromise everything." 

_Whatever._ We both know that if there is a way to get Stanley out alive, I will do just that. I sigh silently and turn to leave. I just want this mission over and done with. Michael's hand on my arm startles me and I look at him in surprise. He pulls me closer, his eyes never leaving mine. "It is important you understand this." 

Puzzled by his odd intensity, I just nod at him, my mind already inside the Freedom League base. _I have to save Stanley. I can't let him die. Please let him still be alive._

"Nikita..." I look at him impatiently. Michael hesitates for a few seconds before pulling something out of the pocket of his leather jacket with his free hand. "If anything goes wrong and your comm. unit fails..." He puts a small PDA in my palm, his hand lingering, almost as though he wants to close my fingers over the device. Finally pulling his hand away, he speaks again, his voice low and urgent. 

"Keep an eye on this." His other hand tightens on my arm. "We'll be able to communicate... _from anywhere._ " 

His fingers are digging into my arm so hard that the skin starts to tingle uncomfortably under his touch, and my pulse quickens as I suddenly grasp the subtle desperation in his voice. _We'll be able to communicate from anywhere._ His urgent words echo in my mind. _If something goes wrong..._

Why the sudden concern that my comm. unit may fail? I have never once needed to use a PDA as backup. The small twinge of apprehension flutters and grows into a feeling of cold dread. I stare at the PDA in my hand, then at the darkened building in front of us. "Michael, what's going on?" 

He lets go of my arm so abruptly that I feel strangely off balance without his touch. 

"Go. " 

His soft reply is little more than a hoarse whisper, but it sends a shiver of unease down my spine. Confused, I turn to look at him. It's the last night of the full moon, and I can see him clearly. Unblinking, Michael returns my stare, and the breath catches painfully in my chest. His eyes are glittering with a fierce desolation that confuses and frightens me, and as we stare at each other I can feel the waves of tension dancing all around us. Apprehension floods my mind and I look away in confusion. 

Something's not right. 

~*~*~*~ 

Nikita turns away frowning, but I sense that her mind is already focused on Stanley Shays and her desire to remedy what she sees as her betrayal of him. I know her too well. She _will_ try to save him. I'm counting on it. According to the thermal scan, Shays is being held only metres from a ground floor emergency exit. For the first time, I am praying for Nikita to disobey my direct orders. I stand and watch her walk away, unable to stop myself from wishing bitterly that Shays was already dead. 

Nikita runs swiftly down the gentle slope of the embankment, ducking under the wire fence before darting quickly to her point of entry. Hopeless despair seizes my heart, and the impulse to stop her grows stronger with every step she takes. I clench my fists, letting the fingernails dig sharply into my palms as I watch her quickly scale the side of the building. But the pain does nothing to distract me from the brutal reality. 

As painful as it is, I can't bring myself to look away. It's almost as though I need to imprint her image onto my mind, my heart. My unspoken fear surges forward... _I can't lose her. She's all I have._ The blood roaring in my ears, I have to use every bit of self-control to not abort the mission. Reason struggles to overcome panic. If I abort now, it will mean cancellation for both of us. This way, there is still a chance. Suddenly agitated, I start to second-guess myself. _I should have told her to extract Shays._

No. I had to follow the profile to the letter to avoid suspicion. She has the PDA. The warning message is on a delayed send. Nikita will have two minutes to get clear of the building before detonation. She is a good operative. She can do it. 

A little taunting voice stings me. _Even if she does survive, you will never see her again. Either way, you've lost her._

Birkoff and Walter are still monitoring the team from inside the van, but I can't bear to join them, not while I can still see her. Birkoff's voice is suddenly loud in my comm. unit. 

"Okay, Nikita. Are you in position?" 

There is a slight pause as Nikita swings her body up onto the roof, her slightly breathless reply piercing my heart. "Almost there, Birkoff." 

A strange numbness creeping along my veins, I can only stand in the doorway of the vehicle and watch Nikita run along the flat section of roof, feeling the life drain out of my soul with every step she takes. She disappears from sight, and the realization that she is gone slams into me like a body blow. 

I'll never see her again. 

~*~*~*~ 

Walter and Birkoff are intently watching their respective panels when I finally enter inside the vehicle. I almost turn around again when I realize that Birkoff has Nikita's comm. unit channel on speaker. 

I close my eyes in despair at the thought that this may be the last time I hear her voice. There are a few seconds silence before Nikita checks in with Birkoff. "I'm inside." 

Birkoff brings up a new screen. "Your point two is to the north." 

Slightly breathless, Nikita confirms his instructions. "Point two...thirty seconds." We wait in silence until her next report half a minute later. "Second position covered." 

Almost nauseous with anxiety, I watch Birkoff rapidly typing in the commands that will lead Nikita to ground zero. "Continue to plant on point." 

Gunfire crackles faintly from the speaker followed by Nikita's tense voice. "We've been detected, Birkoff." 

He shakes his head as if Nikita can actually see him. "Doesn't matter. Get to your position." 

Walter looks up from his screen. "Nikita's in place." 

A thrill of fear shoots through me as I look at Walter. Once the sequence has commenced, there is no turning back, for Nikita...or myself. 

"Start the sequence." 

Walter nods at me, and it's done. 

"All charges set." Birkoff relaxes slightly now that the explosives are in place. He tilts his head to one side, stretching his neck muscles before turning to me. "What's our exit strategy?" 

"Tell everyone to hold their positions." A surprised silence greets my directive. Birkoff hesitates, looking at me with confusion in his eyes. 

Acid stings the back of my throat, making it hard to say the words that can only mean death for anyone still inside the building. "Do it." 

Birkoff suddenly looks very young as he speaks into the comm. microphone, his eyes never leaving mine. "All positions...stand by." He cuts the audio connection and looks away with a frown. 

_He knows._

Walter looks at me uneasily. "Hey, Michael, we're armed." I say nothing, and his voice becomes rough with fright. "Get them out of there, now!" 

The blood pounds painfully in my temples. The temptation to do what Walter is demanding is almost overwhelming. I can feel cold sweat running down my back as I somehow manage to answer him. "That's not the mission profile." 

"Not the mission profile?!" All the colour drains from his face, his eyes widening in shocked disbelief. " _Nikita's_ in there!" 

A panicked disembodied voice leaps out of the speaker. In the fog of anguish clouding my mind, one thought struggles free. _Thank God...it's not Nikita's voice._ "Birkoff, what are we waiting for? Get us _out_ of here!" 

Walter's face tightens and he reaches for the detonator in a panic. _He knows, too._ I can't let him interfere. If we abort, Nikita will be cancelled as soon as we returned to Section. _I can't let that happen._ I grab his arm tightly, ripping my gun from its holster at the same time. Walter freezes, staring with horrified shock at the gun pointed at his forehead. 

His teary eyes meet mine, the anguish in his face only a reflection of my own grief. I take a deep breath and release his arm before pulling the detonator out of his reach. "I said...that's _not_ the mission profile." 

~*~*~*~ 

The C4 is set. I've sent Walter two pulses to let him know that I'm ready. _So why aren't we pulling out?_ I glance around. _Stanley._ If there's been a tactical delay, I can get him out. _I have time...I can do it._ I leave my position and start to edge along the darkened corridor, wondering if they would be foolish enough to keep him in the same holding area this whole time. 

My pulse starts to race as I consider the possibility that I could right the wrong that I have done, that I could still save Stanley's life. Michael's strangely urgent plea flashes into my mind, but I push it away. He couldn't have known that there would be time to get him out. 

I finally reach the open storage room and scan it quickly. For a few seconds, I can't quite comprehend what I'm seeing. I've found Stanley, but he's lying in what looks like a hospital bed. _Oh no..._

"Stanley!" _Why is he hooked up to so many IV drips_? I look him over quickly, and when my gazes reaches his feet my whole body goes cold. _Oh my god...his feet. His poor feet..._ Nauseated, I have to look away. His feet look like so much minced meat and I have no idea how I stop myself from throwing up. I touch his shoulder reassuringly, unsure if he can even hear me. "Stanley, I'm going to get you out of here." 

He only groans, a low moan of pain that makes my blood boil. _Those bastards!_ Distracted by Stanley's agony, a blurred movement is the only warning I have before bullets are suddenly flying around the room. My mind registers that the shooter is Tyler only seconds before my arm starts to burn with an incredible stinging pain, the bicep feeling as though it's dissolving beneath the skin. _Shit!_ I clutch at a metal pole to steady myself, wincing with pain. Tyler is still firing. _My god...Stanley!_

Enraged, I pull myself back up, ignoring the internal fire ripping through my left shoulder. I glance quickly at Stanley, only to discover that the back of the bed is riddled with bullet holes. Shaking all over, I call out his name quietly. "Stanley?" I know in my heart that he's gone, but I don't want to believe it. 

Blood has started to seep through the back of the bed, and I stare in horror at the red liquid staining the wood. I hear Tyler breathing heavily nearby and rage sweeps through me, sending adrenalin pumping into my blood. Half-blinded by tears, I push myself to my feet, my mind gripped by a white-hot hatred. Tyler turns to me but never gets a chance to fire his weapon before I empty my clip into him...without a second's hesitation. 

The sound of his body hitting the ground with a dull thud brings me back to my senses, the pain in my arm radiating hotly through my entire body. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the buzzing in my ears is not a reaction to the gunfire but is actually coming from the PDA that Michael gave me. 

Confused, I pull it from my pocket and stare in bewilderment at the words on the small screen. 

SUICIDE  
MISSION.  
YOU'RE FREE.  
RUN.  
DON'T RETURN.  


The PDA starts to shake in my hand. I look around the room in confusion. _Is this some kind of sick joke?_ I stare down at the words again as though expecting them to change into something that actually makes sense. 

_Suicide mission?_ Comprehension slams into me like a ton of bricks. _We were never meant to get out of here._ Feeling as though someone else is controlling my body, I turn off the PDA and gaze helplessly at Stanley's body. _I'm sorry...so sorry._

_You're free. Run._

Pain shoots through my body as I start to run towards the secondary egress, but fear overrides every other physical sensation. My breath burns my lungs as I literally run for my life. 

_Run...you're free._

Oh my god...it was an abeyance mission all along. Michael gave the order to start the sequence while we were already inside...while _I_ was still inside. Why? _Why?_

The emergency exit suddenly looms up in front of me and I rip the door open, dashing out into the cold night air. My shoulder feeling as though it is burning from the inside out, I manage to stumble twenty yards before the air around me flashes white and the whole world explodes. 

~*~*~*~ 

_Fifteen seconds._

How can it be that such a short space of time can pass so slowly? Every second feels like an hour. It seems like an eternity since I gave the order that would give Nikita her freedom, one way or the other. I lower my gun, click off the safety and lay it on the seat beside me. 

Walter stares at the timer that is slowly counting down the remaining seconds of my team, unshed tears of angry frustration glittering in his eyes. I stare unseeing at the wall of the van interior. _She had enough time._ I see Birkoff bow his head and hide a pale face behind hands that are starting to shake. 

_00:00_

The van rocks gently with the force of the blast. Feeling strangely numb, I can hear the crackle and hiss of the fire as it swallows up the old wooden building, and something deep inside me shrivels and dies as though those same flames are licking along my veins. 

The silence inside the vehicle is deafening, broken only by the sound of Walter's labored breathing. Unable to face the sorrow and anger I know I will see in their eyes, I don't look at either man as I pull the cell phone out of my pocket and press #1. 

The line is picked up after one ring, an all too familiar voice quickly on the other end. "Yes?" 

"Sequence completed." 

Operations' reply is like a hot knife twisting deep in my gut. "Good work, Michael." Speechless with rage, I hang up without replying, my thoughts a furious tangle of misery and hope. 

_She only had two minutes to clear the building...it wasn't enough time._

_No._ I know her too well. Nikita would have gone looking for Shays. She would have had enough time. 

I place the phone on the bench with exaggerated care and finally raise my eyes. Walter and Birkoff are staring at me in shock, absolutely desolate. The urge to tell them everything, that I have done what I could to save her, almost overcomes me. I can't. _If_...I swallow hard... _if Nikita survived the blast, she will be free of Section forever. No one can know she is still alive._ I can't jeopardise her second chance in a vain attempt to exonerate myself. 

No longer caring about the hatred shimmering in Walter's eyes, I take a deep breath and put my gun away. "Let's go." 

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	4. page 4 - Quality of Mercy

The van jerks to life, picking up speed quickly as we leave the disused dirt track and get back onto the surfaced road. I stare at the laptop beneath my hand for a very long time, my mind desperately repeating the same foolishly hopeful wish, over and over. 

_She had time. She made it out alive. She had time._

Unable to bear witness to Walter and Birkoff's pain any longer, I pick up the laptop and walk unsteadily to sit at the other end of the cabin, but there is no way to escape their suddenly raised voices. 

"You cold-blooded son of a..." Walter stops abruptly, his words strangled by grief. "If you think I'm going to let you just drive off after..." 

"Walter...don't!" 

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch them. Birkoff has hold of Walter's arm, trying to keep him in his seat. Walter wrenches his arm away and looks at Birkoff angrily. "He sent her in there to die, Birkoff!" 

I close my eyes, incapable of stopping the shock wave of grief that Walter's words send ripping through me. 

"Walter...he pulled a gun on you...don't make him use it." There is a painful silence. "Please, don't...I couldn't bear to lose..." Birkoff trails off, as though embarrassed by his show of emotion. 

Walter clears his throat, and when he speaks his voice is rough with suppressed fury. "Okay, amigo. I won't... _not here._ " 

Their voices seem to fade as my fingers tighten on the laptop, clutching it as though it is a lifeline. _She had time to get out. I made sure of it. She's a good operative. She had time._

I struggle against the urge to punch a hole in the van wall and instead send up a silent entreaty. _Please...please have made it out in time. I can bear this life without you if I know that you are alive and free...but if you are not..._ I put my hand over my eyes in despair, struggling with the burden of concealing my grief. 

We travel in a miserable silence through the early hours of the morning, putting more and more miles between ourselves and the former Freedom League base...and Nikita. 

~*~

Everything hurts, even my fingernails. _I might just lie here for a little while,_ I think groggily. The burning throbbing in my shoulder slowly brings me back to reality, and I start to shiver. _I'm cold._ I raise my head and gasp as a blinding flash of pain erupts behind my eyes, but I grit my teeth and open my eyes. 

I'm lying face down in long grass. _What the hell happened?_ There is an awful taste in my mouth...blood and dirt and god knows what else. Spitting out the worst of it, I lie still and suck the cool air deep into my lungs, and the fuzziness in my head gradually recedes. Unfortunately, with clarity comes recollection. 

_Dear god._

Panicked, I try to push myself off the ground but only succeed in rolling onto my back. I stretch out, panting with fear, unable to comprehend the enormity of what has happened. 

_I was in abeyance?_ Hot tears sting my eyes and spill down my face. Stanley...he's dead. Painful sobs wrack my body as I lie on the hard ground, staring up at stars that five other people will never see again. I should be dead too...why am I still alive?! I grab hold of the long grass with one hand and pull myself up slowly into a sitting position as the answer to my question comes all too quickly. 

_If anything goes wrong and your comm. unit fails...we'll be able to communicate...from anywhere._

Michael. Michael _knew._ But _when_ did he know? When he came to my apartment? _No._ I refuse to believe that. I saw his face when I opened the door...he was afraid, afraid of what I might have done to myself. Why would he save me from myself, knowing that I was being sent out to die in only a few hours? 

A fit of coughing interrupts my hectic thoughts and I hunch over, hugging my body to stop my ribs from hurting. Shivering, I pull my jacket tighter and look down at my upper arm with confused dismay. _Damn it. The bastard shot me._

Closing my eyes, I press a tentative hand to my upper arm and gently squeeze. Pain streaks across my shoulders, setting my teeth on edge. I take a deep breath and press harder, sighing with relief as my fingers find no bullet beneath the skin, only the ragged edges of an exit wound. _Thank god._ The bullet seems to have only passed through flesh, not bone. _Tyler's aim must have been a little off._ I push the thought of Tyler away, not wanting to conjure up the terrible sight of Stanley's broken body in my mind. I can't think about him, not now. 

I wipe a sleeve across my face, grateful that I've at least managed to get my tears under control. Too bad my head's still scrambled. _Now what? What the hell do I do now?_

That message...it had to have come from Michael. Thinking of the PDA has me scrabbling through my pockets, relief flooding through me as I finally find it in the grass. I press the on button with an unsteady finger and watch in disbelief as the last message sent appears on the screen once again. 

SUICIDE  
MISSION.  
YOU'RE FREE.  
RUN.  
DON'T RETURN.  


The words are as unbelievable now as they were when I first read them, and I stare at them for a few moments until they start to blur, my mind slowly ticking over. _When did he know?_ I close my eyes as the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. Someone else calling me in for the mission, Michael's absence from the briefing...I think of the look on Michael's face when I met him in van access and a stabbing pain pierces my heart. 

_Oh my god...he knew that it was an abeyance mission but he didn't know that I was involved...that's why he was so horrified to see me._ I saw the shock in his eyes before he could hide it, but I never imagined that... A shiver prickles down my spine as the sheer magnitude of his actions slams home. 

_Michael did this alone. He went against a direct order from Section. Everyone else thinks I'm dead. They won't look for me._

Michael saved my life and I will never be able to thank him for it. _He risked everything to keep me alive._ I close my eyes as the tears start again, and clutch the PDA to my chest. _He set me free._

I sit on the cold ground and weep, from shock as much as pain, as the enormity of what Michael has done slowly breaks through the fevered haze of my thoughts. 

_I'm free._

~*~

The van comes to a sudden halt and Walter and Birkoff are on their feet immediately, as though they cannot get away from my presence quickly enough. I wait several minutes before following, finally walking into van access on legs that feel dangerously unsteady. 

Walter is waiting for me. 

Unable to muster the mental energy to avoid him, I start to walk past, intent on reaching the privacy of my office so that I can quietly fall apart. 

He leans against the wall and watches me through narrowed eyes. As I draw level, he pushes himself off the wall and steps in front of me, his voice low and cold with anger. 

"How could you?" 

Overwhelmed by my own misery, I take a deep breath and say nothing. There is nothing I can say that will comfort him. _If she is alive...he can never know._

As I calmly meet his furious stare, his face crumples with grief, his voice slowly rising. "She was one of the good ones...how could you let them do it?" Walter takes another step closer, his face tightening with vindictive intent. 

"She was the only thing that kept you going after you lost Simone." Something twists and splinters inside me at the sound of Simone's name, the still potent agony of her loss abrading my soul, like salt searing an open wound. The air grows dense with tension, the silence between us deepening as we stare at each other. 

Walter shakes his head, his eyes welling with tears. "Hell, she's one of the few things that kept _me_ going in this place!" Infuriated by my continued silence, he shoves his face in mine. "How _could_ you just throw her life away like that?!" 

I blink and look away, desperately trying to control my own sorrow. "I had my orders." 

Walter's face turns white, and he reaches for me. My body numbed by emotion, I don't move away as he grabs the front of my jacket in a surprisingly strong grip, roaring at me in outrage. 

"Orders?! When it's someone you care about, you don't give a fuck about orders! You...do...something...about...it!" 

On the edge of my control and frustrated by the fact that I cannot defend my actions without compromising both Walter and Nikita, my temper finally flares. I take hold of Walter's seemingly frail wrists, but he only tightens his hold on my jacket. 

I don't want to hurt him, but the desperate urge to escape overwhelms me. His eyes widen as my hand curls around his throat, but he doesn't let go. I tighten my grip and pull him closer, hardly able to get the words out without betraying my own pain. "Don't do this." 

His eyes fill with tears and he releases his hold abruptly. "Why...what are you gonna do? " I ease my hand away from his throat and he takes a step back, tears trickling unchecked down his weather beaten face. His eyes rake my face with a fierce loathing as he rubs his neck, venomous distaste dripping from every word. "You gonna kill me too?" 

Stung by his words, I can only stare at him unhappily. Walter watches me with miserable eyes, suddenly looking every one of his years. Abruptly, his rage seems to seep away on a ragged sigh as he looks into my eyes, utterly defeated. "Damn you, Michael. I _loved_ that girl." 

His admission slices open my soul, and I can no longer hide my sorrow as hot tears sear the back of my eyes. Walter stares at me, stunned, as the camouflage borne of necessity slips from my control and he sees my heart in my eyes. 

_So did I._

"Michael." 

Startled, Walter and I become aware of Operations' presence at the door to van access. Walter clears his throat and quickly walks away, his shoulders slumped under the weight of his grief. 

I turn to face the man who ordered Nikita's death. 

"Yes?" 

"I'd like to see you in my office." He studies me for a few seconds, and becomes almost hesitant. "When you're ready." 

"Of course." 

~*~

"Frlein, warten Sie bitte!" I hear the heavy footfall of the station guard behind me. "Sie müssen eine Karte kaufen bevor sie einsteigen können!" 

_("Miss, wait! You must buy a ticket before you can board the train.")_

_Shit._ I turn to face my pursuer. He's in his sixties and his hair is silver beneath his cap, but there is an appreciate gleam in his eyes as he looks me over. I think of Walter, and have to fight to keep the tears at bay. His eyes widen slightly, and I am unhappily reminded that I must look like hell. 

_I don't need this._ My arm feels twice its normal size, and I have spent the last two hours traveling from Leipzig in the a cabin of a line haul rig with a truck driver who smelt as much of garlic as he did of sweat. I smile at the guard with as much charm as I can muster while frantically dredging up what little German language skills I possess. 

"Helfen Sie mir bitte? Mein Geld wurde gestohlen." The stationmaster looks gratifyingly shocked, and I step closer to him, wondering if I should try batting my eyelashes. God, I am desperate. "Ich habe kein Geld um eine Karte zu kaufen." 

_("Can you help me please? My money has been stolen. I have no money to buy a ticket.")_

He allows himself a small smile at the expense of my German accent, and eases into hesitant English. 

"Poor girl!" He pauses to look over his shoulder before whispering a little too obviously. "I am sure that something may be arranged. To where do you travel?" 

His question catches me unawares. I barely know where I am, let alone where I want to go. I struggle to hang onto my composure, knowing that my dissolving into a complete and utter mess is only a heartbeat away. I'm all tangled up inside, and I force myself to concentrate only on getting away from here as quickly as possible. 

Heart pounding, I give him my most winsome smile. "Where is _this_ train going?" 

He gives me a long look of consideration. I can only imagine what he thinks of my disheveled appearance. My clothes are dusty, ripped and bloodstained, and I have no doubt that I've had better hair days. 

My new friend seems to pick up on my silent desperation, conspiratorial understanding slowly breaking across his craggy face. "Prague, miss." 

My heart flutters crazily at his reply. _Oh no...of all places...why Prague?_

_After this dance._

_Oh god_...I take a deep breath, swallowing my tears. Prague is the last place I want to go, but I _have_ to keep moving. The truck driver would only bring me as far as Dresden, and this is still too close to Leipzig for comfort. Knowing I won't feel safe until I'm out of Germany, I make my decision. _I can always go on from Prague in the morning._ I pull my jacket tighter around my body and smile at him as the tears I can no longer hold back slowly trickle down my face, the bittersweet memory of that last dance with Michael in Nikolai's tearing at my heart. I lift my chin determinedly, miserably aware of the sense of coming full circle. 

"Then that is where I am going." 

~*~

The water is as hot as I can make it, but I feel as though I will never be warm again. Leaning back against the wall of the shower stall, I let the scorching water run over my body, desperately wanting the physical pain...anything to distract from the anguish decimating my mind. 

_The other six will be sacrificed._

Unable to bear the company of my own thoughts any longer, I turn off the water abruptly. I dry myself and dress as though on automatic pilot, my senses consumed by a single impulse. 

_I need to know that she made it out alive._

I think of the laptop in my office, and grit my teeth in frustration. I can't do it...not yet. It's too soon. If there is even the slightest hint of an anomaly, if Section finds even the smallest indication that all is not as it seems, then my efforts will have been in vain. They will find her...and they will cancel her. As for what they will do to me...at this point in time, I no longer care. 

I can feel the silently accusing stares as I walk slowly to my office, the burden of my guilt almost unbearable. Sickness churning in the pit of my stomach, I remember that I have to debrief with Operations, and realise that if I am to make it through the next ten minutes without betraying myself, I need to get my feelings under control _now._

"I'm sorry that it had to come to this, Michael." 

Distracted by my thoughts, I hear Madeline's lilting voice a split-second before she appears in my line of sight, her worthless apology stopping me in my tracks. 

A red haze shrouds my vision as unadulterated rage sweeps through me. I turn wordlessly to meet her eyes without bothering to hide my anger, allowing her a glimpse of my true thoughts. Madeline pales, visibly recoiling before she can check her reaction. I continue to stare at her in silence, and for the first time, I see uncertainty at the back of her eyes. 

I see fear. 

She recovers almost immediately, nodding and turning to walk swiftly in the direction of Operations' office, where I doubt she will waste any time informing him of my behaviour. 

Feeling strangely disinterested in Madeline's and indeed Section's opinion, I also make my way to Operations' office. I pause at the bottom of the stairs, miserably aware that I am about to give the most important performance of my Section life and that for once, I don't know if I can do it. 

~*~

Madeline and Operations look up when I appear in the doorway, and I watch with detached interest as Madeline draws back to one side of the room, apparently happy for Operations to deal with me by himself. 

"Come in, Michael." 

Acutely aware of their scrutiny, I enter the room and walk to the floor length windows, knowing at once that I will not be able to look at them and still get through this farce of a debriefing. 

"We pulled NSA's ass out of the fire once again." Operations is fairly crowing with self-satisfaction. "The report shows we had a hundred percent containment." He pauses expectantly, and there is no way to avoid the necessity of a reply. 

"Everything went as planned." I look out over Section with eyes that see only flames and fervently pray that I am right. 

Operations sighs heavily, and with his next words, confirms my suspicions that Madeline has indeed spoken to him about my conduct. 

"Look, Michael...I know Nikita was your material. We often form bonds." Violence shudders through my soul, and I flatten my hands on the window ledge, fighting the furious urge to ram my fist into his face. 

When I remain silent, Operations continues in the same insincere tone of voice, every word bringing me closer to the brink of physical hostility. "I hope you understand our position." 

"Of course." I grip the windowsill tightly in an effort to clamp down on my anger, the hard metal edge cutting into my fingers. It doesn't work and I know that I will not be able to conceal my anguish for much longer. My breath feels tight in my chest, and to my alarm I feel warm pressure building behind my eyes. 

_I have to get out of here._

"Is that all?" 

There is a tense silence before Operations clears his throat. "Yes." 

Fighting the almost overwhelming urge to run from this room, from its atmosphere of death and treachery, I turn on my heel and quickly walk out, hatred quietly burning in my heart. 

~*~

Anger pulses through me as I stride through Section, and it is a struggle to keep my agitation hidden from the many pairs of eyes that once again watch my every move. Nikita had many more friends than she did enemies within the walls of Section, and I already feel the unforgiving yoke of blame tightening across my shoulders. 

And yet this is a burden that I will gladly bear if Nikita is alive. 

Paranoia wars with the desperate need for reassurance. I know that _they_ are watching and I am taking a huge risk if I attempt to contact her now, but that grim knowledge pales into insignificance beside the restless need that churns coldly in my stomach. 

_I have to know._

I shut the door firmly and stare around my office as though seeing it for the first time. Memories of Nikita assail my senses immediately, and I have to avert my eyes from the spare chair that she had unofficially annexed for her own. Disabling the surveillance system only makes my anger flare once more. 

_Two minutes of my life back, twice a day,_ I think bitterly. _One of the few perks of obtaining Level Five status._

I have no wish to attract any more unwanted attention by shutting the blinds, but I cannot stop myself from scanning the hallway thoroughly. The immediate area is deserted, and there is no sign of either Madeline or Operations. _No doubt they are immersed in reviewing the abeyance mission._ The very thought of them studying the sequence, intently watching for the moment of Nikita's death is enough to shove aside any lingering hesitation. _Damn them both to hell._

My thoughts in complete disarray, I reach for the laptop. There are so many words bubbling up inside my soul that can never be spoken, so many needs and desires that can never be realised. What then, can I possibly say to her? 

My fingers are stiff and uncooperative as I open up the connection, and the words come very slowly. Everything I want to say, everything I need to know has been condensed into one stark question, and I feel as though my whole consciousness has been stripped back, blurring hazily into these four simple words. 

_NIKITA, ARE YOU THERE?_

I stare at the screen for a few seconds, realizing numbly that this short message will reveal my state of mind far more clearly than any more eloquent missive, but also knowing that I am beyond caring. 

_I have to know that she is alive._

My pulse beats an erratic cadence as I reach out and press 'send'. I watch the message disappear into the ether with a sense of inevitability, and my mind instantly begins to sift through all my fears once more. _What if she left the PDA behind? What if she was badly injured?_

I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the best-case scenario. _She made it out in time. She has the PDA with her._ But nothing I tell myself can prevent a burning knot of apprehension forming deep in my gut. 

I stare at the screen, the tension of anticipation fluttering through my heart. The fact that the message has not bounced back as undeliverable should be enough to satisfy me that the PDA, and therefore Nikita, emerged from the Freedom League base relatively intact, but it doesn't. I must make contact with her...I need to know that she understands why I did what I did. 

_Nothing._ No answer. The empty screen mocks me, forcing me to face the brutal truth behind my desperate craving to contact Nikita. 

I thought that it would be enough to know that I had done all I could to save her...that I could bear to keep living this life if there was the slightest chance that she was alive...that she was free. 

I drop my head into my hands in quiet despair. 

_I was wrong._

~*~

I've always hated sleeping on trains, but I'd never realized just how much I hated it until I had to deal with a bullet wound in the arm and a sense of loss that threatens to rip me apart from the heart out. 

So I have to be content with dozing, but part of me doesn't want to sleep anyway...I don't want to dream. Not tonight. I couldn't bear it. 

It takes me a few seconds to work out where the tinny beeping noise is coming from, my pulse starting to race when I realize that the 'new message received' light is flashing on the PDA. 

Only one person knows I have this panel. I'm almost afraid to press the receive button and when I finally do, I almost wish I hadn't. 

_NIKITA, ARE YOU THERE?_

I stare at the screen, my churning insides a muddle of fear and longing. 

_Am I here?_

I think of Michael waiting for my reply, not knowing if I am dead or alive, and my heart aches for him. For both of us. 

_Am I here?_

I stare out through the window beyond my own reflection to the moon, heavy and low in the night sky. Rapid snatches of conversation flash into my head, remembered feelings buffeting my heart. 

_It must be the full moon...not yet, after this dance...would you miss me...we'll be able to communicate...from anywhere._

I touch the screen of the PDA almost reverently, knowing that the decision I make in this instant will reach out to both of us for a long time to come. He cared enough to set me free. Now I have to care enough to stay free. 

_Please, Michael. Just let me go._

I reach for the PDA with a trembling hand, my index finger poised over the 'off' button for what seems like an eternity. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and press it, barely hearing the faint beep over the frantic pounding of my heart. 

_I wish things could be different._

Unable to hold back the tide of despair crashing over me any longer, I clasp the PDA to my heart and weep bitterly for everything that has been given back to me. And all that I have lost. 

~*~

"Dadda!" I hear Adam's delighted cry seconds before the front door is flung open and my three- year-old son staggers unsteadily down the front path to greet me. Elena follows at a more sedate pace, watching his every step. I drop my briefcase and gather him in my arms, gripping him to me so tightly that he starts to squirm in protest. I loosen my hold slightly, but I can't bring myself to put him down. The solid weight of him in my arms is slowly thawing my senses, but with that warmth comes the agony of remembrance. I suddenly feel as though there is no way that I will be able to hide the grief that is twisting my soul. 

And yet I do. I smile at Elena over the top of Adam's head and she kisses me warmly, her face alight with happiness. 

"Michael, I'm so glad you're home." She slides her arm around my waist and studies me with concern before reaching up and stroking my face. 

"You look tired. How was the conference?" 

It's all I can do not to flinch from her gentle touch. 

"The conference was- " I trail off, misery stealing my voice and blurring my thoughts. Nausea clutches coldly at my stomach and I take hold of Elena's hand, pulling it away from my cheek. "The conference was fine." 

"Did anything exciting happen? Tell me all about it!" 

I tighten my arms around Adam and bury my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his clean, innocent baby smell. A stark wave of pain crashes over me, an inner agony so intense that my body starts to shake with the effort of concealment. 

I take a determined breath and smile at her indulgently as my heart shatters into a thousand jagged pieces. 

"No. There's nothing to tell." 

~*~


End file.
